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https://archive.org/details/warsongspoemsofs00whar_0 


GENERAL  JOHN  B.  GORDON 
To  whose  memory  this  volume  is  dedicated  by  the  author, 


War  Songs  and  Poems 

—OF  THE— 

Southern  Confederacy 

1861-1865 


A COLLECTION  OF  THE  MOST  POPULAR  AND  IMPRESSIVE 
SONGS  AND  POEMS  OF  WAR  TIMES,  DEAR  TO  EVERY 
SOUTHERN  HEART 


COLLECTED  AND  RETOLD 
WITH  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF  THE  WAR 


By  H.  M.  WHARTON,  D.D. 

Private  in  General  Lee’s  Army,  Author  of  “ A Picnic  in  Palestine,”  ” A 
Month  with  Moody,”  ‘‘Pulpit,  Pew  and  Platform,”  ‘‘Gospel 
Talks  ” ‘‘Mother,  Home  and  Jesus,”  Etc. 


PROFUSELY  ILLUSTRATED 


Entered  according  to  Act  of 
Congress  in  tKe  year  1904  by 
W.  E.  SCULL,  in  the  office 
of  the  Librarian  of  Congress, 
at  Washington,  D.  C. 


All  Rights  Reserved 


9ri,o? 


a. 


j 


# 


TO 


GENERAL  JOHN  B.  GORDON 


Commander,  Friend, 
x^ATRioT,  Christian,  Comrade, 

THIS  BOOK  IS  AFFECTIONATEEY 
INSCRIBED  AS  A SINCERE  TOKEN 
OF  GRATEFUE  REMEMBRANCE 


The  Author 


FORE-WORD 


^T^hese  songs  and  poems  belong  to 
the  Nation. 

Although  our  friends  at  the  North 
will  smile  at  some,  wince  at  others,  and 
even  have  their  blood  warmed  by  one 
here  and  there,  they  must  not  forget 
that  they  were  written  by  their  brothers 
and  sisters  during  a family  quarrel 
when  feeling  was  intense  and  the  fight 
hot  and  fast. 

It  is  all  over  now  ; we  are  more 
united  than  ever  and  shall  never  fall 
out  with  each  other  again. 

My  object  has  been  to  rescue  from  oblivion,  these  pro- 
ductions of  a people  as  brave  and  true  as  ever  lived,  and 
yet  within  half  a century  forgetting  the  past,  they  have  built 
up  their  shattered  fortunes,  and  side  by  side  with  the  men 
they  had  once  fought,  they  stood  in  battle  for  the  defense 
of  our  glorious  flag. 

No  North,  no  South,  no  East,  no  West,  but  one  and 
inseparable  now  and  forever. 

jVml. 

Philadelphia,  March,  1904. 


a 


THE  AUTHOR'S  REMINISCENCES 
OF  WAR  DAYS 


TANDING  forty  years  away  from  the  terrible  days  of  the 


early  ‘^sixties’’,  we  are  able  to  look  back  now  upon 


those  times  with  cooler  blood  and  calmer  judgment.  In 
all  the  history  of  the  world  there  has  not  been  a conflict  in  which 
there  was  greater  generalship  displayed  or  more  courage,  and 
sacrifice  and  devotion  by  the  men  and  women  at  home  or  the 
soldiers  in  the  field. 

Never,  while  memory  lasts,  shall  I forget  a scene  which 
transpired  early  in  April,  1861,  as  our  family  sat  at  breakfast 
in  the  farm-house  home  in  Culpepper  County,  Ya.  My  oldest 
brother  suddenly  entered  the  dining-room  and  exclaimed, 
“ The  war  has  commenced  ; Fort  Sumter  is  being  bombarded  ! ” 
I was  too  young  to  understand  these  words,  but  saw,  upon  the 
faces  of  my  father  and  mother,  an  expression  which  filled  my 
heart  with  anxiety.  Little  did  I know  that  our  own  beloved 
State  was  to  become  the  battleground  of  the  great  struggle, 
and  that  our  home  should  be  left  desolate,  while  some  of  the 
dearest  members  of  that  little  circle  around  the  breakfast  table 
must  soon  be  taken  away  forever. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  STORM 

As  to  the  causes  of  the  War,  there  can  be  but  little  differ- 


ence of  opinion  now.  When  the  Union  was  formed,  it  was 
the  determination  of  our  forefathers  that  while  many  of  the 
rights  which  would  have  been  held  by  us  as  separate  colonies 
should  be  given  up,  yet,  there  were  other  rights  which  must 
ever  be  held  sacred,  and  among  these,  the  special  privilege  of 
conducting  our  own  affairs  according  to  our  own  will  and 
pleasure.  The  doctrine  of  States’  Lights  was  really  the  begin- 
ning of  the  strife,  which  commenced  years  before  war  was 


5 


6 


THE  AUTHORS  REMINISCENCES  OF  WAR  DAYS 


declared.  It  was  well  known,  however,  that  the  real  provok- 
ing cause  of  war  was  the  Negro.  While  Mr.  Lincoln  was 
not  nominated  or  elected  upon  the  platform  of  Abolition,  yet 
it  was  a well-known  doctrine  of  his  party,  and  the  people 
knew  that  the  ultimate  object  of  that  party  was  to  emancipate 
the  slaves  in  the  Southern  States.  The  platform  of  the  Repub- 
lican party  did  claim,  however,  the  privilege  of  prohibiting 
slavery  in  any  new  States  and  Territories  that  might  come 
into  the  Union,  and  it  was  but  a step  from  that  position  to  a 
further  determination  to  abolish  slavery  everywhere.  Mr. 
Lincoln  could  never  have  been  elected  but  for  the  fact  that 
there  was  a remarkable  and  unprecedented  division  in  the 
opposing  parties.  An  example  of  this  was  found  in  my  own 
family.  My  father,  and  one  of  my  brothers,  were  for  Brecken- 
ridge ; another  brother  for  Douglas,  and  still  another  supported 
the  Bell  and  Everett  ticket.  This  division  and  confusion 
pervaded  the  country  everywhere,  and  although  Mr.  Lincoln 
lacked  more  than  a million  to  give  him  the  popular  vote,  he 
was  elected.  Ilis  election,  of  course,  was  the  red  rag  to  the 
Southei'ii  bull ; it  was  the  fire  to  the  powder  ; and  the  very  fact 
that  he  had  to  travel  in  disguise  to  take  his  seat  at  Washing- 
ton, showed  the  red-hot  condition  of  popular  feeling. 

South  Carolina,  small,  impulsive,  brave,  was  the  first  to 
take  her  stand,  declaring  her  right  to  withdraw  from  a Union 
into  which  she  had  entered  of  her  own  free  will  and  accord. 
Other  States  followed  in  rapid  succession  and  excitement  was 
at  high  tide. 

OLD  VIRGINIAN'S  STAND 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  A^irginia,  ever  regarded  the 
strong,  proud,  old  Commonwealth  which  had  given  to  the 
Union  its  greatest  leaders,  and  whose  sons  had  been  first  and 
foremost  in  peace  as  well  as  in  war — not  only  to  declare  her 
rights,  ))ut  to  stand  to  them,  and,  if  necessary,  to  fight  and  die 
for  tbem.  A convention  was  called  to  meet  at  Richmond, 
\hrginia,  and  no  sooner  had  they  assembled  and  the  sense  of 


THE  AUTHORS  REMINISCENCES  OF  WAR  DAYS 


7 


the  meeting  ascertained,  than  it  was  discovered  that  the  great 
majority  were  for  remaining  in  the  Union,  and  standing  by  tlie 
Flag  of  our  Country.  Mr.  Lincoln,  at  this  time,  occupied  a 
most  unenviable  and  desperate  situation.  The  people  of  the 
South  we-re  defiant,  and  declared  their  purpose  to  resist  any 
invasion  of  their  rights.  A certain  party  of  the  North  just  as 
violently  declared  that  the  Southern  States  had  no  right  to 
secede,  and  should  be  forced  back  into  the  Lhiion.  With  these 
flaming  declarations  they  goaded  the  new  President  from  day 
to  day.  Mr.  Lincoln  finally  yielded,  and  called  for  75,000 
troops  from  the  different  States  to  suppress  the  rebellion.  Vir- 
ginia, being  still  in  the  Union,  was  called  upon  for  her  quota. 
Quick  as  a flash  the  sentiment  of  the  great  Convention  at 
Richmond  changed  from  a strong  determination  to  remain  in 
the  Union,  to  an  immediate  decision  to  withdraw  from  the 
United  States.  See  what  the  Old  Commonwealth  had  to 
face  ! She  was  called  upon  to  take  up  arms  against  her  sister 
States  in  the  South  ; nor  did  she  wait  or  hesitate  for  one 
moment  but  cast  in  her  lot  “ for  weal  or  woe  ” with  those 
who  were  bone  of  her  bone,  flesh  of  her  flesh;  blood  of  her 
blood  ; and  her  most  distinguished  son  and  ablest  military 
general  of  his  day,  or  of  any  day,  who  was  at  that  time  offered 
the  command  of  the  United  States  forces,  presented  his  sword 
to  the  authorities  at  M^ashington,  and  turned  his  back  upon 
all  that  had  been  dear  to  him  as  a citizen  and  a soldier,  and 
offered  his  services  to  his  own  State  and  his  loved  Southland. 
That  man  was  Robert  Edward  Lee,  whose  name  grows  more 
precious,  not  only  to  the  South,  but  to  the  North,  and  to  all 
the  world  as  years  roll  on. 

Events  transpired  in  rapid  and  bewildering  succes- 
sion. Great  trains  loaded  with  soldiers  followed  in  sight  of 
each  other  along  the  railways.  Armies  were  established  at 
points  where  the  struggle  would  likely  be  the  most  severe,  and 
of  these  places,  Manassas,  a little  railway  station  not  far  from 
Alexandria, Virginia,  was  early  chosen.  The  battle  of  Bull  Run 


8 


THE  AUTHOR'S  REMINISCENCES  OE  WAR  DAYS 


on  the  18th  of  July,  and  the  first  battle  of  Manassas  on  the 
21st,  just  three  days  later,  have  gone  forth  to  the  world  in  the 
annals  of  war  as  the  decisive  struggles  of  two  great  armies. 
It  has  been  thought,  and  with  much  reason,  that  if  the  initial 
victories  of  the  Southern  forces  on  these  occasions  had  been 
followed  up,  the  war  would  have  ended;  but  four  long  weary 
years  must  follow,  and  hundreds  and  thousands  of  the  best 
men  of  the  land  must  die,  countless  homes  be  made  desolate, 
and  the  whole  country  utterly  laid  waste  and  ruined. 

MY  FATHER’S  FAMILY  IN  THE  WAR 

Our  family  remained  in  the  County  of  Culpepper  until 
about  the  middle  of  the  war.  God  took  our  dear  mother 
from  us  ; the  older  boys  had  to  go  to  war  and  father  was  alone 
with  his  daughters  and  myself,  I being  the  youngest  child. 
As  I was  under  age,  and  not  large  enough  to  be  noticed,  I 
was  often  in  conversation  with  Federal  officers,  and  also  with 
those  from  the  South.  One  army  or  the  other  seemed  almost 
incessantly  passing  to  and  fro  through  our  part  of  the  State. 
It  was  my  privilege  to  witness  the  battle  of  Cedar  Mountain, 
which  was  fought  two  miles  from  my  father’s  home,  and  the 
next  day  I rode  over  the  field  in  company  with  him  to  see  if 
we  might,  in  any  way,  minister  to  the  wants  of  the  wounded 
and  suffering.  It  was  my  first  study  of  a battle  field,  and  the 
impression  made  upon  my  mind,  when  I saw  hundreds  of 
men  lying  in  every  position — the  most  of  them  dead,  others 
wounded  and  dying — can  never  be  removed.  It  was  a matter 
absolutely  incomprehensible  to  me,  that  men  should  kill  each 
other  as  they  had  done  on  the  bloody  field,  and  I wonder  at 
it  to  this  day. 

I was  standing  in  my  father’s  yard  when  Pope’s  army 
commenced  its  retreat.  Several  stragglers  came  in  to  get  a 
drink  of  water,  and  I inquired  of  them  which  way  they  were 
going.  They  answered,  ‘‘  Back  where  we  came  from.”  I asked 
them  who  was  in  command  on  the  other  side  the  day  before. 
The  reply  was,  That  man  Jackson;  his  name  is  better  than 


THE  AUTHORS S REMINISCENCES  OF  WAR  DAYS 


0 


10,000  men  any  day.”  Another  conversation  occurred  about 
this  time  with  reference  to  General  Jackson.  Several  Federal 
officers  who  had  been  in  the  fight  the  day  before,  were  discus- 
sing the  point  whether  General  Jackson  was  a Christian.  One 
said,  ‘ffi^do  not  believe  he  is  a Christian,  for  if  he  was  he 
would  not  be  such  a devil  of  a fighter;”  the  other  said,  I do 
not  know  whether  he  is  a Christian  or  not ; but  there  is  one 
thing  certain,  if  ever  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Heaven 
all  hell  can’t  keep  him  from  it.”  Such  was  the  impression 
that  Stonewall  Jackson  had  made  upon  the  men  of  the  Federal 
Army.  He  was  a Christian  indeed,  and  when  he  fell  asleep 
in  the  arms  of  victory  at  Chancellorsville,  his  last  words  gave 
evidence  that  he  had  gained  another  and  greater  triumph — 
“ Let  us  cross  over  the  river,  and  rest  under  the  shade  of  the 
trees.” 

IN  THE  BREASTWORKS  BELOW  PETERSBURG 

The  second  day  of  April,  1865,  found  me  in  tlie  breast- 
works below  Petersburg  on  the  Appomattox  River, — a boy  of 
sixteen,  and  a soldier  in  an  army  of  40,000  men  opposing 
fully  five  times  that  many  on  the  other  side.  Our  attenuated 
line,  which  was  ‘Gong  drawn  _ out,”  extended  from  beyond 
Richmond  on  the  one  side  to  miles  below  Petersburg  on  the 
other.  These  lines  were  very  close  together,  so  close  indeed, 
that  we  could  easily  hear  the  rumbling  of  wagons  within  the 
lines  of  the  Federal  Army.  Often  I have  sat  at  night  and 
witnessed  an  artillery  duel  of  the  batteries,  as  the  flaming  mes- 
sengers of  death  passed  each  other  in  the  night  air  on  their 
mission  of  destruction.  It  was  Sunday,  the  second  day  of 
April,  1865,  when  orders  came  to  us  to  be  ready  at  once  to 
march.  It  does  not  take  a soldier  long  to  pack  his  goods  and 
chattels,  nor  does  he  have  to  tarry  for  many  courses  at  his  morn- 
ing meal.  Suffice  it  to  say,  we  were  soon  under  way,  we  knew 
not  Avhither,  though  the  impression  on  our  minds  was  that  it 
would  be  to  advance,  and  we  should  soon  be  in  the  thick  of 
the  fight. 


10  THE  AUTHOR'S  REMINISCENCES  OF  WAR  DAYS 


Our  surprise  and  humiliation  may  be  more  easily  imag- 
ined than  described,  when  our  faces  were  turned  away  from 
the  enemy’s  lines,  and  the  firing  in  the  rear  told  us  we 
were  hotly  pursued.  One  solid  week  of  fighting  and  march- 
ing followed.  Our  soldiers  were  hungry,  sleepless  and  dispir- 
ited. It  is  no  mere  war  story  to  say  that  for  days  we  had 
nothing  to  eat,  the  exception  being  an  ear  of  hard  corn,  or,  on 
one  occasion,  an  ox  shot  down  in  a pasture,  we  carved  him 
with  our  pocket-knives  as  we  passed  on  the  rapid  march,  and 
at  tke  first  halt  broiled  on  a hastily  made  fire  the  raw  morsel 
we  had  captured.  I remember  distinctly  when  nearing  Farm- 
ville,  we  crossed  a liigh  bridge,  one  end  of  which  was  on  fire, 
and  a little  beyond  as  we  walked  along  the  road,  I went 
into  such  a sound  sleep,  marching  with  my  musket  on  my 
shoulder,  that  I fell,  and  was  only  awakened  when  my  tired 
body  struck  the  earth.  Still  on  we  ’went,  with  never  a thought 
of  anything  but  victory.  The  battle  of  Sailor’s  Creek  is  well- 
known  to  have  been  one  of  the  severe  fights  we  had  as  we 
went  on  our  way. 

GENERALS  LEE  AND  GORDON 
General  elohn  B.  Gordon,  of  Georgia,  a valiant  soldier 
who  never  knew  a fear,  and  wdiose  splendid  patriotism  dazzled 
the  eyes  of  the  world  ; the  man  who  flung  himself  in  front  of 
General  Lee’s  horse,  and  seizing  the  bridle  turned  him  back  to 
the  rear,  then  liastening  to  the  front,  led  the  charge  himself ; 
the  man  whose  military  record  was  not  greater  than  his  record 
as  a follower  of  Jesus  Christ — the  now  sainted  Gordon,  I am 
proud  to  say,  was  my  commander.  Never  in  all  my  life,  have 
I known  a sweeter  spirit,  or  a nobler  character:  he  has  been 
in  my  home,  held  my  baby  upon  his  knee,  and  delighted  the 
household  with  his  words  of  faith  and  wisdom,  and  whether 
he  was  delighting  a little  family  circle,  or  charming  and  thrill- 
ing an  immense  audience,  he  was  always  the  same  simple- 
hearted  nobleman.  To-day,  he  lives  in  the  hearts  of  millions 
of  his  countrymen.  North  and  South,  for  be  it  said  to  his 


THE  AUTHOR'S  REMINISCENCES  OF  WAR  DAYS  11 


praise,  his  great  heart  was  as  large  as  his  country,  and  having 
fought  the  battle  with  uncompromising  loyalty,  he  was  as  faith- 
ful in  the  hour  of  surrender,  as  he  was  in  the  day  of  victory. 

A little  incident  occurred  in  a fight  one  day  which  General 
Gordon  Loved  to  tell.  In  the  course  of  his  splendid  lecture — 
The  Last  Days  of  the  Confederacy,  he  said  that  one  day 
he  discovered  a private  soldier  running  to  the  rear  as  fast  as 
ever  he  could  go.  Calling  to  him  at  once  General  Gordon 
said,  What  are  you  running  for?  I am  running  because 
I can’t  fly,”  he  answered,  and  went  right  on.  If  ever  a man 
had  excuse  for  running,  it  surely  must  have  been  on  occasions 
like  that  when  trying  to  escape  the  storm  of  shot  and  shell. 

But  the  end  came  at  last,  and  on  Sunday,  the  ninth  day 
of  April,  1865,  as  we  stood  on  the  battle  ground  facing  the  line 
of  the  Federal  forces,  orders  came  to  us  to  stack  arms.  It 
could  not  have  been  more  thoroughly  understood  if  a book 
had  been  written  on  the  subject.  Stack  arms  on  the  battle 
field,  and  in  the  very  face  of  the  enemy ! It  could  mean 
but  one  thing,  and  that  was  surrender.  Many  of  us  felt  as 
General  Wise  expressed  himself  when  coming  out  of  the  camp 
that  morning  to  the  roadside,  having  washed  his  face  in  a 
mud  hole,  and  could  hardly  therefore  be  recognized,  he  saw 
General  Lee  passing,  and  called  to  him  saying,  General  Lee, 
they  tell  me  you  have  surrendered.  Is  it  true  ? O ! is  it 
true  ? ” General  Lee  replied,  General  Wise,  I am  on  my 
way  now  to  arrange  the  terms  of  surrender  with  General 
Grant.”  General  Wise  lifted  both  hands  above  his  head  and 
said,  “ 0 ! Lord,  what  shall  I do  ? What  shall  I do  ? ” 
General  Lee  replied  in  a quiet  tone,  General  Wise,  I would 
suggest  that  you  go  and  wash  your  face.”  This  little  story 
was  given  to  me  one  night  at  a Confederate  Veterans’  Camp, 
in  the  City  of  Baltimore  by  Colonel  Marshall,  the  aide  and 
friend  of  General  Lee. 

It  was  a revelation  to  us  (I  think  there  were  not  more 
than  8,000  who  reached  Appomattox)  when  the  salutes  began 


12  THE  AUTHOR'S  REMINISCENCES  OF  WAR  DAYS 


to  be  fired.  The  sound  of  artillery  was  all  around  us,  and  we 
discovered  for  the  first  time  that  General  Grant’s  entire  army 
encompassed  us.  But  the  end  had  come,  and  we  accepted  the 
situation  and  determined  to  abide  by  the  decision  of  our  great 
General.  It  is  a fact,  well-known,  that  strong  influence  was 
brought  to  bear  upon  General  Lee  at  that  time  to  prolong  the 
war,  as  the  Boers  have  since  done  in  South  Africa,  and  there 
is  no  telling  to  what  extent  it  might  have  been  carried  on. 
But  with  far-seeing  wisdom,  he  determined  that  the  proper 
course  to  pursue  was  for  the  men  to  surrender  forever  the 
cause  for  which  they  had  so  earnestly  fought,  and  go  back  to 
their  homes,  and  to  the  support  of  their  families,  as  loyal  citi- 
zens of  the  United  States.  So  deep  was  the  impression  of  the 
famous  General  Order  No.  9 ”,  that  many  of  us  carry  much 
of  it  in  our  memories  from  that  day  to  this.  The  first  words 
set  forth  in  full  the  whole  situation  : After  four  years  of 
arduous  service,  marked  by  unsurpassed  valor  and  devotion, 
the  army  of  Northern  Virginia  has  been  compelled  to  yield  to 
overwhelming  numbers  and  resources.”  This,  indeed,  was 
the  truth  of  our  position,  and  when  we  surrendered  we  ended 
forever  our  opposition  to  the  Union. 

THE  LOYALTY  OF  THE  SOUTHERN  PEOPLE 
The  loyalty  of  the  Southern  peo])le  has  been  clearly 
shown  from  that  day  to  this,  nor  have  the  most  skeptical 
doubted  their  sincerity  since  the  days  of  the  Spanish-American 
War,  when  the  men  of  the  South  rushed  to  the  defense  of  our 
Flag  with  the  same  patriotism  and  courage  as  the  men  of  any 
other  section  of  this  great  country.  So  thoroughly  was  our 
country  cemented  together,  and  so  completely  were  old 
animosities  forgotten,  that  when  William  McKinley  selected 
his  men  to  lead  our  armies,  he  chose  them  from  the  South  as 
well  as  from  the  North  ; and  to-day,  if  an  American  is  asked  foi‘ 
the  heroes  of  that  late  war  he  does  not  hesitate  as  he  mentions 
Dewey  of  Vermont,  Fitzhugh  Lee  of  Virginia,  or  Joe  Wheeler 
of  Alabama.  The  great  country  is  one,  and  will  remain  as  it 


THE  AUTHORS  REMINISCENCES  OF  WAR  DAYS  13 


is  now  and  forever.  Like  a fair  woman  who  rests  her  head 
upon  the  snowy  pillows  of  the  North  and  bathes  her  feet 
in  the  placid  waters  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  her  left  hand 
extended  to  welcome  the  nations  of  the  East,  while  her  right 
unlocks  the  golden  stores  of  the  West,  she  is  destined  to  lead 
the  world  to  higher  achievements,  and  more  glorious  con- 
quest than  has  ever  been  known  to  the  sons  of  men. 

THE  POETRY  AND  SONG  OF  WAR 

A popular  and  characteristic  feature  of  every  war  is  its 
literature — in  poetry  and  song.  ‘‘  The  Marseillaise  Hymn  ’’ 
stirred  the  heart  of  France  as  never  before  ; Cromwell,  with 
his  Puritans,  went  forth  to  battle  singing  their  hallelujahs  of 
praise  ; who  that  lived  amid  the  days  of  ’61  does  not  remem- 
ber the  little  Irishman,  Harry  McCarty,  who  went  forth 
throughout  the  Southern  States  singing  to  the  assembled  mul- 
titudes The  Bonnie  Blue  Flag  ” until  they  went  wild  with 
excitement  ? What  soldier  in  the  Southern  States  has  not  had 
every  nerve  thrilled  as  the  band  would  strike  up  “Dixie?” 
It  is  true  that  we  cannot  find  much  evidence  of  genius  at  such 
times,  nor  the  productions  of  mature  and  thoughtful  study. 
Such  poems  and  songs  are  sparks  of  flame  from  the  fires  of 
w^ar,  and  high  literary  merit  must  not  be  expected.  But  if 
you  wish  to  find  the  hearts  of  the  people  you  will  hear  it  in 
their  songs.  It  has  been  a delightful  task  to  me  in  the  past 
year  to  collect  from  all  quarters  of  the  South  these  songs  and 
poems,  and  so  to  rescue  from  oblivion  the  productions  which 
are  dear  to  every  Southern  heart  and  home.  Nor  is  it  con- 
fined alone  to  the  South,  for  in  the  North,  and  even  in  other 
lands,  people  listen  with  glad  interest  to  the  war  songs  of 
those  days. 

“the  BONNIE  BLUE  FLAG” 

There  is  an  incident  of  my  own  adventure  connected  with 
this  song  which  brings  to  my  mind  some  very  pleasant  asso- 
ciations, and  goes  to  show  how  very  popular  the  song  is 
wherever  it  may  be  sung. 


14  THE  AUTHOR'S  REMINISCENCES  OF  WAR  DAYS 


I was  crossing  tlie  ocean  a few  summers  ago,  on  the 
Anchor  June  steamer  Furnesia.  It  so  happened  that  we  found 
tlie  Fourth  of  July  out  in  mid-ocean,  and  determined  to  cele- 
brate it.  There  being  a great  dearth  of  good  speakers,  the 
selection  fell  upon  me  to  make  the  address,  and  I responded 
the  best  I could.  Of  course,  I need  not  say  it  was  eminently 
patriotic,  and  loyal  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  At  the  conclu- 
sion, however,  I announced  to  my  audience  that  I was  the 
only  Southern  man  on  board  ship,  that  I was  an  Ex-Confed- 
erate soldier,  and  if  it  pleased  them,  I would  conclude  my 
address  by  singing  a Confederate  War  Song,  thus  giving  them 
a piece  of  unwritten  History.  Tliis  announcement  was 
received  with  applause,  and  I proceeded  at  once  to  sing  with 
all  my  might,  and  the  fervor  of  a true  Southern  heart,  The 
Bonnie  Blue  Flag.’^  The  clapping  and  cheering  that  followed 
gave  unmistakable  evidence  that  this  song  of  the  South  was 
well  received. 

That  day  at  dinner  we  had,  of  course,  the  usual  patriotic 
meal — Columbia  Soup,  Star  Spangled  Banner  Pudding,  Stars 
and  Stripes  Ice  Cream,  etc., — and  at  every  plate,  save  mine, 
there  was  a small  American  flag,  about  3x4  inches  large. 
At  my  plate  there  was  a Blue  Flag  with  a White  Star  in  the 
middle.  Several  hundred  guests,  seated  at  the  table,  had  evi- 
dently been  informed  of  the  delicate  little  compliment  that 
had  been  paid  to  me,  and  when  I lifted  the  Flag  from  its 
place,  a very  pleasant  greeting  came  from  all  who  were 
present,  and  I proceeded  to  devour,  with  unusual  delight,  the 
dinner  that  was  set  before  me. 

It  has  been  my  purpose  to  cull  from  every  State  the  most 
popular  and  impressive  songs,  and  to  lay  them  before  the  world 
not  only  for  their  present  use  and  enjoyment,  but  to  be  handed 
down  to  generations  yet  to  come.  The  old  veteran  will  take 
this  book,  and  with  a voice,  that  may  not  be  as  strong  or  true 
as  of  forty  years  ago,  will  sing  to  his  grandchild  those  hymns 
of  the  days  of  battle,  while  he  lives  over  again  the  toil  and 


THE  AUTHORS  REMINISCENCES  OF  WAR  DAYS  lo 


strife  for  the  cause  he  so  truly  loved.  The  walls  of  our 
school- houses  will  resound  with  declamations  from  these  pages, 
and  generations  yet  unborn  will  sing  the  songs  of  the  great 
Civil  AYar.  I have  no  word  to  say  in  their  praise,  for  none  is 
needed  ; I have  no  apology  to  offer  for  presenting  them  to  my 
own  people  of  the  South,  because  I know  how  gladly  they  will 
receive  them.  I only  hope  that  the  sweet  spirit  which  now 
characterizes  our  great  country  will  receive  this  book,  and 
preserve  these  treasures  as  a part  of  the  literature  of  our  whole 
land,  and  not  that  of  any  particular  people  or  section. 

God  bless  our  country,  and  carry  us  forward  to  peace  and 
prosperity  until  the  cry  of  victory  over  every  enemy  shall  be 
heard  amid  the  hosannas  of  the  redeemed  in  Heaven, 

H.  M.  WHARTON. 


Residence  in  Richmond,  Va.,  occupied  by  General  Lee  while 
Commander-in.Chief  of  the  Confederate  Armies. 


Table  of  Contents 


Page 

Author’s  Rkminiscencks  or  War  Days 5 

A Ballad  of  the  War George  Herbert  Sass  70 

A Christmas  of  Long  Ago  . . Morton  Brya7i  Wharton^  D.D.  133 

A Farewell  to  Pope John  R.  Thompson  351 

After  the  Battle Miss  Agnes  Leonard  1 7 1 

All  Quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night  . . Ethel  Lynn  Elliott  27 

All  is  Gone Eadette  361 

A Prayer  for  Peace S.  Teacle  Wallis  81 

A Rebel  Soldier  Killed  in  the  Trenches  Before  Petersburg, 

Virginia,  April  15,  1865  ....  209 

A Reply  to  the  Conquered  Banner  . Sir  Henry  Houghton  404 

Ashes  of  Glory  ^ A . J.  Requier  186 

Awake — xArise  ! G.  W.  Areher^  M.  D.  189 

At  Fort  Pillow James  R.  Randall  292 

Ballad— “Yes,  Build  Your  Walls  ” 373 

Ballad—*  * What  Have  Ye  Thought  ? ” 301 

Baltimore  Grays 85 

Battle  Hymn 163 

Battle  of  Hampton  Roads Ossian  D.  Gojnnan  210 

Battle  of  Belmont J.  Augusthie  Signaigo  217 

Beaufort /.  Grayson  127 

Beauregard Afiss  Warjield  254 

Bowing  Her  Head 366 

Bull  Run — A Parody 375 

Captain  Latane John  R.  Thompson  37 

Captain  Maffitt’s  Ballad  of  the  Sea 331 

Captives  Going  Home 198 

Carmen  Triumphale Llenry  Tim7'od  341 

Carolina Anna  Peyn^e  Dinnies  247 

Carolina,  April  14,  1861 John  A.  Wag7ier  58 

Carolina Henry  Timrod  158 

Charge  of  Hagood’s  Brigade.  ....  Joseph  Dlyth  Allsto7i  18 1 

Charleston He7iry  Timrod  233 

16 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Page 

Charleston E.  B.  Cheeseborough  328 

Charleston Paul  H.  Hayne  78 

Chickamauga — “The  Stream  of  Death” 147 

Christmas Henry  Timrod  325 

Cleburne  .< M.  A.  Jennhigs  114 

Clouds  in  the  West A.  J.  Requier  222 

Close  the  Ranks E.  O'Sullivan  320 

Dear  Mother,  I’ve  Come  Home  to  Die  . ...  E.  Bowers  258 

Dirge  for  Ashby Mrs.  M.  J.  Presto7t  152 

Dixie Albert  Pike  29 


Doffing  the  Gray Lieutenant  Ealligant  374 


Ella  Ree 

England’s  Neutrality  .... 

Enlisted  To-day 

Eulogy  of  the  Dead 

Farewell  to  Star  Spangled  Banner 

Fort  Wagner 

From  the  Rapidan — 1863.  . . . 


213 

. .J.P.  Thompson  313 

225 

. . . B.  E.  Porter  40 

A^ion.  378 

W.  Gilmore  Shjims  243 

288 


Gathering  Song Annie  Chambers  Ketchum  329 

Gendron  Palmer,  of  the  Holcombe  Eegion 

hia  AT.  Porter  42 

Gen.  Albert  Sidney  Johnston Mary Jervey  46 

General  Dabney  H . Maury . Rosewell  Page  400 

Georgia,  My  Georgia Carrie  Bell  Smclair  31 

Give  Back  Thy  Sword 286 

God  Save  the  South Geo.  H.  Miles  281 

Grave  of  A.  Sidney  Johnston J.  B . Symiott  1 13 

Hospital  Duties  297 

Hymn  to  the  National  Flag  . . . Mrs.  M.  J.  Preston  291 

If  You  Eove  Me J:  Augustine  Sig?iaigo  393 

I Give  My  Soldier  Boy  a Blade H.  AT.  A.  380 

Imogen — Air,  112  ; Words 114 

In  His  Blanket  on  the  Ground  ....  Caroline  H.  Gervais  308 


In  the  Land  Where  We  Were  Dreaming  . 
Is  There,  Then,  No  Hope  for  the  Nations  ? 


D.  B.  Lucas  369 
289 


In  Memoriam 178 

• 396 


, Is  This  a Time  to  Dance  ? 
2 


18 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Page 

Jackson 302 

Jackson,  the  Alexandria  Martyr  . IV.  H.  Holco7nbe,  M.D,  295 

Joe  Johnston /.A.  Tho77ipso7i  89 

John  Pegram W.  Gordo7i  McCabe  197 

John  Pelham Ja77ies  R.  Rayidall  276 

Katy  Wells 212 

Kentucky  Required  to  Yield  Her  Arms  ....  Boo7ie  95 
Kentucky,  She  is  Sold /-A.  Barrick  164 

Land  of  King  Cotton J.  Augicstme  Signaigo  132 

Let  Me  Kiss  Him  for  His  Mother Atioji.  379 

Let  Us  Cross  Over  the  River — ^Jackson’s  Last  Words  . . . . 180 

Libera  Nos,  O Domine  ! J.  Barro7i  Hope  167 

Lincoln’s  Troops A.  Goodlett  145 

Little  Giffin Dr.  Fra7icis  O.  Tick7ior  125 

Lorena 52 


At 


anassas Gather  me  M.  Warfield  75 

Melt  the  Bells  ...........  F.  V.  Rockett  272 

Missing 303 

Moonstruck Morto7i  Bryaji  Wharton^  D.  D.  338 

Morris  Island W.  Gil77iore  Si77t77ts  245 

Mumford,  the  Martyr  of  New  Orleans  ....  Iiia  M.  Porter  183 

My  Country W.  D.  Porter  170 

My  Maryland James  R . Randall  192 

My  Warrior  Boy 389 


54 


Nellie  Gray 

No  Land  Like  Ours  . .J.  R.  Barrick  259 

Not  Doubtful  of  Your  Fatherland 110 

Notes  on  the  Illustrations  409 

Ode — “ Do  Ye  Quail  ? ” W.  Gilmo7'e  SItutus  398 

Ode — “Our  City  by  the  Sea”  . W.  Gihiore  Smims  343 

Ode — “ Souls  of  Heroes  ” . 305 

Ode — “Shell  the  Old  City!  Shell  1”  . . . W.  Gil77iore  Sinmis  355 
On  the  Heights  of  Mission  Ridge  . . J.  Augustme  Sig7iaigo  201 

Old  Betsy JoJm  Killzc77i  1 95 

Old  Moultrie Catherme  Ge7idro7i  Poyas  129 

Only  a Private Capt.  F.  W.  Dawson  397 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


19 


Page 

kS.  a.  Jones  153 


Julia  L.  Keyes 


131 

49 

202 

262 

323 

62 

104 


Only  a Soldier’s  Grave 

Only  One  Killed  . . . 

Oh  No  ! He’ll  Not  Need  Them  Again  ! 

On  to  Richmond J-  R-  Thompsoii 

O Tempora  ! O Mores ! . . . . John  Dickson  Bru7iSy  M.  D. 

Our  Christmas  Hymn Jolm  Dickson  Bruns y M.  D. 

Our  Confederate  Dead Jaines  R.  Randall 

Our  Dead  Heroes Mortoyi  Bryan  Wharton  y D.  D. 

Our  Departed  Comrades J.  Mario^i  S hirer  266 

Our  Faith  in  ’61 A.  J.  Requier  32 

“ Our  Deft  at  Manassas” 200 

Our  Martyrs PaulH.Hayne  264 

Over  the  River Jane  T.  H.  Cross  94 

Pop  Goes  the  Weasel 

President  Davis 

Pro  Memoria 

Promise  of  Spring 


387 

Jajie  T.  H.  Cross  66 
. bia  M.  Porter  136 

154 


Rappahannock  Army  Song  . 

Reading  the  List  . . . 
Roll  of  Confederate  States,  The 


John  C.  McLemore  139 
261 

• • 405 


Sacrifice 

Savannah  

Savannah  Fallen 

Sea  Weeds 

Seventy-six  and  Sixty-one  . . . 

Somebody’s  Darling 

Song  of  Our  Glorious  Southland 

Song  of  Spring 

Song  of  the  Texas  Rangers  . . . 

Sonnet 

Song — Imogen 

Sonnet 

Sonnet — Avatar  of  Hell 

Sonnet — The  Ship  of  State  . . . 

South  Carolina 

Southern  War  Hymn 

Spring 


246 

. Alethea  S.  B^irroughs  150 
. Alethea  S.  Burroughs  372 
A^ina  Chambers  Ketchu77i  273 

J.  W.  Ove7'all  287 

....  Marie  La  Coste  188 
. . . . Mrs.  Mary  Ware  296 
. . . Jolm  A.  Wagener  121 

• • 175 

304 

. . .John  B.  Magruder  114 

217 

36 

• • 308 

69 

. . . Jolm  A.  Wage7ier  117 
. . . . Henry  Timrod  156 


20 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Stack  Arms 

Stonewall  Jackson  . . . . . 
Stonewall  Jackson  .... 
Stonewall  Jackson — A Dirge 
Stonewall  Jackson’s  Way  . 
Sumter  in  Ruins 


Page 

. . .Jos.  Blyth  Alston  51 
. . . . , H.  L.  Flash  122 

57 

» • • 123 

John  Williamson  Palmer  47 
. . W.  Gihyiore  Simms  242 


Tell  the  Boys  the  War  is  Ended Ejyiily  J.  Moore  65 

The  Angel  of  the  Church  ....  IE.  Gilmore  Sh?i7ns  249 

The  Band  in  the  Pines John  Este?i  Cooke  330 

The  Battle  of  Charleston  Harbor Paul  H.  Hayne  240 

The  Battle  of  Richmond  .......  George  Herbert  Sass  98 

The  Battle  Rainbow J.  R.  Thompsoji  115 

The  Beaufort  Exile’s  Eament 195 

The  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 23 

The  Boy  Soldier 214 

The  Broken  Mug  John  Este^i  Cooke  267 

The  Cameo  Bracelet  James  R.  Randall  252 

The  Coat  of  Faded  Gray, G.  W.  Hands  345 

The  Confederacy  . ! Jane  T.  H.  Cross  26 

The  Confederate  Note Major  S.  A.  Jonas  39 

The  Conquered  Banner  ........  Father  A.  J.  Ryan  402 

The  Contraband 394 

The  Cotton  Boll Heniy  Thnrod  235 

The  Cotton  Burners’  Hymn 185 

The  Countersign 385 

The  Dead  Man  That  Lay  at  My  Door  . . . . A.  L.  Moore  336 
The  Death  of  Jefferson  Davis  . Morion  Bryayi  Wharton,  D.D.  135 
The  Denominational  Team  . Morton  Bryan  Wharton^  D . D.  92 
The  Dying  Soldier  Boy  ........  A.  B.  Cimnmgha^n  347 

The  Empty  Sleeve Dr.  J.  R.  Bagby  145 

The  Enemy  Shall  Never  Reach  Your  City 349 

The  Fiend  Unbound 255 

The  Foe  at  the  Gates — Charleston  . . . J.  D.  Brims,  M.  D.  364 

The  Good  Old  Cause . J.  D.  Phelan  230 

The  Guerrillas — A Southern  War  Song  . S.Teacle  Wallis  10 1 

The  Guerrilla  Martyrs ^ 177 

The  Irrepressible  Conflict 68 

The  Knell  Shall  Sound  Once  More 166 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


21 


Page 

The  Legion  of  Honor H.  L.  Flash  221 

The  Lines  Around  Petersburg Samuel  Davis  359 

The  Little  Soldier /.A.  Molloy  384 

The  Lone  Sentry Jaynes  R.  Ra?idall  78 

The  Maryland  Line J-  D.  McCabe,  Jr.  45 

The  Men  ' MawL'e  Bell  208 

The  Mountain  Partisan 275 

The  New  Star B.  M.  A7iderson  285 

The  Oath  of  Freedom Jas.  Ba7mon  Hope  224 

The  Old  Rifleman  Fra7ik  Tick7ior  306 

The  Original  Dixie 59 

The  Phantom  Host Rev.  Pcro7i7iea7i  D.  Hay  105 

The  Pride  of  Battery  B 333 

The  Return 322 

The  Rifleman’s  Fancy  Shot Charles  Dawsou  Shanley  88 

The  Right  Above  the  Wrong JMV.  Overall  340 

The  Salkehatchie F77iily  J . Moo7'e  165 

The  Sea  Kings  of  the  South Edwa7^d  C.  Bruce  3 1 7 

The  Silent  March 43 

The  Soldier’s  Amen 388 

The  Soldier  in  the  Rain Julia  L.  Keyes  142 

The  Southern  Cross C.  K.  Bhuit  283 

The  Southern  Cross Si.  George  Tucker  83 

The  Southern  Dead  ....  Mo7do7t  Brya7i  Wharlo7i,  D.  D.  390 

The  Southern  Homes  in  Ruin R.  B.  Va7ice  138 

The  Southern  Republic Miss  Tho77tas  63 

The  Southern  Soldier  Boy . Father  Rya7i  401 

The  Sword  of  Robert  Lee Father  Rya7i  79 

The  Texan  Marseillaise Ja77ies  Hahies  19 1 

The  Tree,  the  Serpent  and  the  Star A.  P.  Gray  118 

The  Two  Armies HcTiry  Ti77irod  215 

The  Unknown  Dead He7iry  Tmirod  31 1 

The  Voice  of  the  South 16 1 

The  Volunteer — Air 112 

The  War  Christian’s  Thanksgiving G.  H.  Miles  228 

There’s  Life  in  the  Old  Land  Yet  ....  Ja77ies  R.  Ra7idall  96 
They  Cry  “ Peace  ! Peace  ! When  There  is  No  Peace  ” . . 299 

To  a Dejected  Friend  . . . Morto7i  Brya7i  Wharto7i,  D.  D.  354 
To  Hon.  Jefferson  Davis  . . Morto7i  BryaTi  Wharton,  D.  D.  381 


22 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Page 

To  Lily Morto7i  Bryan  Wharton,  D.  D.  143 

To  My  Crewel  Wife  ....  Morton  Bryan  WJiarto7i,  D.  D.  376 

To  My  Soldier  Brother Sallie  M.  Ballard  387 

Turner  Ashby R-  Thompso7i  206 

’ Twas  Just  Like  Jim L.  W.  Canady  346 


Vicksburg — A Ballad Paul  H.  Hay7ie  35 

Virginia Catherhie  M.  Warfield  279 

War- Waves Catherhie  'Ge7idro7i  Poyas  353 

What  the  Village  Bell  Said  . . . Joh7i  C.  McLe77iore  119 

When  Peace  Returns Olivia  Tully  Thomas  280 

When  this  Cruel  War  is  Over Anon,  377 

Wouldst  Thou  Have  Me  Love  Thee? Alex,  Meek  227 


Ye  Batteries  of  Beauregard J-  R-  Barrick  278 

Ye  Cavaliers  of  Dixie Be7ij.  F,  Porter  108 

Ye  Men  of  Alabama Johii  D.  Phela7i  55 

You  can  Never  Win  Them  Back  . . . Catherhie  M.  Warfield  232 


^^ollicoffer 


253 


GENERAL  ROBERT  E-  LEE 


THE  BONNIE  BLUE  FLAG. 


The  first  flag  of  the  South  was  of  solid  blue  with  one  white  star. 

The  ‘‘  Bonnie  Blue  Flag  ” was  doubtless  the  most  popular  song  of  the 
war.  The  people  sang  it,  the  bands  played  it. 

A httle  Irishman,  Harry  McCarty,  went  over  the  land  singing  it,  and 
stirred  the  people  as  the  Frenchman  with  the  “Marseillaise  hymn.”  Often 
I have  heard  him  sing  it  when  thousands  of  people  went  wild  with  excite- 
ment and  enthusiasm.  See  incident  described  in  Introduction. 

TTTe  are  a band  of  brothers 
^ ^ And  native  to  the  soil, 

Fighting  for  the  property 

We  gained  by  honest  toil ; 

And  when  our  rights  were  threatened, 

The  cry  rose  near  and  far — 

Hurrah  for  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
That  bears  the  single  star  I ’’ 

Chorus. 

Hurrah  ! hurrah  ! 

For  Southern  rights  hurrah  ! 

Hurrah  for  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
That  bears  the  single  star. 

As  long  as  the  Union 

Was  faithful  to  her  trust, 

Like  friends  and  like  brothers 
Both  kind  were  we  and  just ; 

But  now,  when  Northern  treachery 
Attempts  our  rights  to  mar. 

We  hoist  on  high  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
That  bears  the  single  star. — Chorus. 

First  gallant  South  Carolina 
Nobly  made  the  stand. 

Then  came  Alabama, 

Who  took  her  by  the  hand  ; 


24 


JVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Next  quickly  Mississippi, 

Georgia  and  Florida 

All  raised  on  high  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag, 

That  bears  the  single  star. — Chorus. 

And  here’s  to  old  Virginia — • 

The  Old  Dominion  State — 

With  the  3"oung  Confed’racy 

At  length  has  linked  her  fate, 
Impelled  by  her  example, 

Now  other  states  prepare 
To  hoist  on  high  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
That  bears  the  single  star. — Chorus. 

Then  here’s  to  our  Confed’racy, 

Strong  are  we  and  brave. 

Like  patriots  of  old  we’ll  fight 
Our  heritage  to  save. 

And  rather  than  submit  to  shame, 

To  die  we  would  prefer ; 

So  cheer  for  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 

That  bears  the  single  star. — Chorus. 

Then  cheer,  boys,  clieer ; 

Raise  the  joyous  shout. 

For  Arkansas  and  North  Carolina 
Now  have  both  gone  out ; 

And  let  another  rousing  cheer 
For  Tennessee  be  given, 

The  single  star  of  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
Has  grown  to  be  eleven. — Chorus. 


IVA/?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


25 


“THE  BONNIE  BLUE  FLAG." 


iK  r- 

1 — 4 1—1 

1 

u 


MARYLAND!  MY  MARYLAND! 


n 


These  are  the  familiar  airs  to  which  the  boys  used  to  sing  their  favorite  songs. 
The  words  are  found  in  their  proper  places. 


26 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  CONFEDERACY. 

By  Jane  T.  II . Cross. 

"Dorn  in  a day,  full-grown,  our  Nation  stood, 

^ The  pearly  light  of  heaven  was  on  her  face 
life’s  early  joy  was  coursing  in  her  blood; 

A thing  she  was  of  beauty  and  of  grace. 

She  stood,  a stranger  on  the  great  broad  earth, 

No  voice  of  sympathy  was  heard  to  greet 
The  glory-beaming  morning  of  her  birth. 

Or  hail  the  coming  of  the  unsoiled  feet. 

She  stood,  derided  by  her  passing  foes ; 

Her  heart  beat  calmly  ’neath  their  look  of  scorn : 
Their  rage  in  blackening  billows  round  her  rose — 
Her  brow,  meanwhile,  as  radiant  as  the  morn. 

Their  poisonous  coils  about  her  limbs  are  cast. 

She  shakes  them  off  in  pure  and  holy  ire. 

As  quietly  as  Paul,  in  ages  past. 

Shook  off  the  serpent  in  the  crackling  fire. 

She  bends  not  to  her  foes,  nor  to  the  world. 

She  bears  a heart  for  glory,  or  for  gloom ; 

But  with  her  starry  cross,  her  flag  unfurled. 

She  kneels  amid  the  sweet  magnolia  bloom. 

She  kneels  to  Thee,  0 God,  she  claims  her  birth. 

She  lifts  to  Thee  her  young  and  trusting  eye, 

She  asks  of  Thee  her  place  upon  the  earth — 

For  it  is  Thine  to  give  or  to  deny. 

Oh,  let  Thine  eye  but  recognize  her  right! 

Oh,  let  Thy  voice  but  justify  her  claim! 

Like  grasshoppers  are  nations  in  Thy  sight. 

And  all  their  power  is  but  an  empty  name. 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


21 


Then  listen,  Father,  listen  to  her  prayer  ! 

Her  robes  are  dripping  with  her  children’s  blood  ; 
Her  foes  around  ‘^like  bulls  of  Bashan  stare,” 

'They  fain  would  sweep  her  off,  ‘‘as  with  a flood.” 

The  anguish  wraps  her  close  around,  like  death, 

Her  children  lie  in  heaps  about  her  slain; 

Before  the  world  she  bravely  holds  her  breath. 

Nor  gives  one  utterance  to  a note  of  pain. 

But  ’tis  not  like  Thee  to  forget  the  oppressed. 

Thou  feel’st  within  her  heart  the  stifled  moan — 
Thou  Christ!  Thou  Lamb  of  God!  oh,  give  her  rest! 
For  thou  hast  called  her  ! — is  she  not  Thine  own  ? 


“ALL  QUIET  ALONG  THE  POTOMAC  TO-NIGHT.” 
By  Ethel  Lynn  Elliott 

There  was  no  poem  written  during  the  war  that  had  a wider  popularity 
than  this.  It  was  set  to  music,  and  I have  often  heard  it  sung,  so  have  many 
other  old  veterans.  I know  the  air,  and  wish  I might  be  able  to  give  it  to 
you.  Some  day  when  we  meet,  this  will  be  one  of  the  songs  we  shall  sing. 

U A hL  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night ! ” 

Except  here  and  there  a stray  picket 
Is  shot,  as  he  walks  on  his  beat,  to  and  fro. 

By  a rifleman  hid  in  the  thicket. 

’Tis  nothing  ! a private  or  two  now  and  then 
Will  not  count  in  the  news  of  a battle ; 

Not  an  officer  lost ! only  one  of  the  men 

Moaning  out,  all  alone,  the  death-rattle. 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night ! 

Where  soldiers  lie  peacefully  dreaming  ; 

And  their  tents  in  the  rays  of  the  clear  autumn  moon, 
And  the  light  of  their  camp-fires  are  gleaming. 


28 


JVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


A tremulous  sigh,  as  a gentle  night-wind 

Through  the  forest  leaves  slowly  is  creeping  ; 

While  the  stars  up  above,  with  their  glittering  eyes, 

Keep  guard  o’er  the  army  while  sleeping. 

There’s  only  the  sound  of  the  lone  sentry’s  tread. 

As  he  tramps  from  the  rock  to  the  fountain. 

And  thinks  of  the  two  on  the  low  trundle  bed. 

Far  away,  in  the  cot  on  the  mountain. 

His  musket  falls  slack,  his  face,  dark  and  grim. 

Grows  gentle  with  memories  tender. 

As  he  mutters  a prayer  for  the  children  asleep, 

And  their  mother — “ may  heaven  defend  her  ! ” 

The  moon  seems  to  shine  forth  as  brightly  as  then — 
That  night,  when  the  love,  yet  unspoken. 

Leaped  up  to  his  lips,  and  when  low-murmured  vows 
Were  pledged  to  be  ever  unbroken. 

Then  drawing  his  sleeve  roughly  over  his  eyes. 

He  dashes  off  tears  that  are  welling ; 

And  gathers  his  gun  closer  up  to  his  breast, 

As  if  to  keep  down  the  heart’s  swelling. 

He  passes  the  fountain,  the  blasted  pine-tree. 

And  his  footstep  is  lagging  and  weary  ; 

A"et  onward  he  goes,  through  the  broad  belt  of  light. 
Towards  the  shades  of  the  forest  so  dreary. 

Hark  ! was  it  the  night  wind  that  rustled  the  leaves  ? 
Was  it  moonlight  so  wondrously  flashing  ? 

It  looked  like  a rifle  : Ha  ! Mary,  good-bye  ! ” 

And  his  life-blood  is  ebbing  and  splashing. 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night ! ” 

No  sound  save  the  rush  of  the  river  ; 

AV^hile  soft  falls  the  dew  on  the  face  of  the  dead, 

And  the  picket’s  off  duty  forever  ! 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


29 


DIXIE. 

, By  Albert  Pike. 

OouTHRONS,  hear  your  Country  call  you  ! 

Up  ! lest  worse  than  death  befall  you  ! 

To  arms  ! to  arms  ! to  arms  ! in  Dixie  I 
Lo  ! all  the  beacon-fires  are  lighted, 

Let  all  hearts  be  now  united  I 

To  arms  ! to  arms  ! to  arms  ! in  Dixie  ! 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie ! 

Hurrah  ! hurrah  ! 

For  Dixie’s  land  we’ll  take  our  stand, 

To  live  or  die  for  Dixie  I 
To  arms  ! to  arms  ! 

And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 

To  arms  ! to  arms  ! 

And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 

Hear  the  Northern  thunders  mutter  ! 
Northern  flags  in  South  winds  flutter  I 
To  arms  ! etc. 

Send  them  back  your  fierce  defiance  1 
Stamp  upon  the  accursed  alliance  ! 

To  arms  ! etc. 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie,  etc. 

Fear  no  danger  ! shun  no  labor  1 
Lift  up  rifle,  pike,  and  sabre  I 
To  arms ! etc. 

Shoulder  pressing  close  to  shoulder. 

Let  the  odds  make  each  heart  bolder  I 
To  arms  ! etc. 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie,  etc. 

How  the  South’s  great  heart  rejoices 
At  your  cannon’s  ringing  voices  ; 

To  arms  ! etc. 


30 


lVAI^  SOA^GS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


For  faith  betrayed  and  pledges  broken, 

AVrong  inflicted,  insults  spoken. 

To  arms  ! etc. 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie,  etc. 

Strong  as  lions,  swift  as  eagles. 

Back  to  their  kennels  hunt  these  beagles  f 
. To  arms  I etc. 

Cut  the  unequal  bonds  asunder ! 

Let  them  hence  each  other  plunder ! 

To  arms  ! etc. 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie,  etc. 

Swear  upon  your  country’s  altar, 

Never  to  submit  or  falter  ; 

To  arms  ! etc. 

Till  the  spoilers  are  defeated, 

Till  tlie  Lord’s  work  is  completed. 

To  arms!  etc. 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! etc. 

Halt  not  till  our  Federation 
Secures  among  earth’s  Powers  its  station ! 
To  arms  I etc. 

Then  at  peace,  and  crowned  with  glory, 
Plear  your  children  tell  the  story  ! 

To  arms  I etc. 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  • etc. 

If  the  loved  ones  weep  in  sadness. 

Victory  shall  bring  them  gladness; 

To  arms  ! etc. 

Exultant  pride  soon  banish  sorrow ; 

Smiles  chase  tears  away  to-morrow. 

To  arms  I etc. 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  I etc. 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


3? 


GEORGIA,  MY  GEORGIA! 

By  Carrie  Bell  Sinclair. 

TT ARK  ! ^tis  the  cannon’s  deafening  roar, 

That  sounds  along  thy  sunny  shore, 

And  thou  shalt  lie  in  chains  no  more, 

]\Iy  wounded,  bleeding  Georgia  ! 

Then  arm  each  youth  and  patriot  sire, 

Light  up  the  patriotic  fire,  • 

And  bid  the  zeal  of  those  that  ne’er  tire, 

AY  ho  strike  for  thee,  my  Georgia ! 

On  thee  is  laid  oppression’s  hand. 
Around  thy  altars  foemen  stand. 

To  scatter  Freedom’s  gallant  band, 

And  lay  thee  low,  my  Georgia ! 

But  thou  hast  noble  sons,  and  brave. 

The  Stars  and  Bars  above  thee  wave, 
And  here  we’ll  make  oppression’s  grave. 
Upon  the  soil  of  Georgia  ! 

We  bow  at  Liberty’s  fair  shrine. 

And  kneel  in  holy  love  at  thine. 

And  while  above  our  stars  still  shine, 

AYe’ll  strike  for  them  and  Georgia ! 

Thy  woods  with  victory  shall  resound. 

Thy  brow  shall  be  with  laurels  crowned 
And  peace  shall  spread  her  wings  around 
My  own,  my  sunny  Georgia  I 

Yes,  these  shall  teach  thy  foes  to  feel 
That  Southern  hearts,  and  Southern  steel, 
Will  make  them  in  submission  kneel 
Before  the  sons  of  Georgia  ! 


WA/^  SOA^GS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  thou  shall  see  their  daughters,  too, 

With  pride  and  patriotism  true. 

Arise  with  strength  to  dare  and  do. 

Ere  they  shall  conquer  Georgia  ! 

Thy  name  shall  be  a name  of  pride— 
Thy  heroes  all  have  nobly  died. 

That  thou  mayst  be  the  spotless  bride 
Of  Liberty,  my  Georgia  ! 

Then  wave  thy  sword  and  banner  high. 
And  louder  raise  the  battle-cry, 

’Till  shouts  of  victory  reach  the  sky, 
And  thou  art  free,  my  Georgia  1 


OUR  FAITH  IN  ’61. 
By  a.  J.  Requier. 


‘‘  Tlie  governments  are  instituted  among  men,  deriving  their  just  pow- 
ers.from  the  consent  of  the  governed  ; that  whenever  any  form  of  govern- 
ment becomes  destructive  of  these  ends,  it  is  the  right  of  the  people  to  alter 
or  abolish  it,  and  to  institute  a new  government,  laying  its  foundation  on 
such  principles,  and  organizing  its  powers  in  such  form,  as  TO  THEIM 
SHAl.L  SEEM  most  likely  to  effect  their  safety  and  happiness.” — (Declara- 
tion of  Independence,  July  4,  1776.) 

A Tor  yet  one  hundred  years  have  flown 
Since  on  this  very  spot, 

The  subjects  of  a sovereign  throne — 

Liege-master  of  their  lot — 

This  high  degree  sped  o’er  the  sea. 

From  council  board  and  tent. 

No  earthly  power  can  rule  the  free 
But  by  their  own  consent  !.” 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY  S3 


For  this,  they  fought  as  Saxons  fight, 

On  bloody  fields  and  long — 

Themselves  the  champions  of  the  right, 

And  judges  of  the  wrong  ; 

For  this  their  stainless  knighthood  wore 
The  branded  rebel’s  name. 

Until  the  starry  cross  they  bore 
Set  all  the  skies  aflame  ! 

^ And  States  co-equal  and  distinct 
Outshone  the  western  sun, 

By  one  great  charter  interlinked — 
Not  blended  into  one ; 

Whose  graven  key  that  high  decree 
The  grand  inscription  lent, 

‘‘  No  earthly  power  can  rule  the  free 
But  by  their  own  consent  1 ” 

Oh,  sordid  age,  oh,  ruthless  rage  ! 

Oh,  sacrilegious  wrong  1 
A deed  to  blast  the  record  page. 

And  snap  the  strings  of  song ; 

In  that  great  charter’s  name,  a band 
By  grovelling  greed  enticed, 

Whose  warrant  is  the  grasping  hand 
Of  creeds  without  a Christ — 

States  that  have  trampled  every  pledge 
Its  crystal  code  contains, 

Now  give  their  swords  a keener  edge 
To  harness  it  with  chains — 

To  make  a bond  of  brotherhood 
■ The  sanction  and  the  seal, 

By  which  to  arm  a rabble  brood 
With  fratricidal  steel. 


3 


3i 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACF 


Who,  conscious  that  their  cause  is  black, 

In  puling  prose  and  rhyme, 

Talk  hatefully  of  love,  and  tack 
Hypocrisy  to  crime  ; 

Who  smile  and  smite,  engross  the  gorge 
Or  impotently  frown  ; 

And  call  us  “ rebels  ” with  King  George, 

As  if  they  wore  his  crown. 

Most  venal  of  a venal  race. 

Who  think  you  cheat  the  sky 
With  every  pharisaic  face 
And  stimulated  lie ; 

Hound  Freedom’s  lair,  with  weapons  bare, 
We  greet  the  light  divine 
Of  those  who  throned  the  goddess  there, 
And  yet  inspire  the  shrine. 

Our  loved  ones’  graves  are  at  our  feet. 

Their  homesteads  at  our  back — 

No  belted  Southron  can  retreat 
With  woman  on  his  track  ; 

Peal,  bannered  host,  the  proud  decree 
Which  from  your  fathers  went, 

‘‘No  earthly  power  can  rule  the  free 
But  by  their  own  consent  I ” 


u^ak  songs  on  the  confederacy 


35 


VICKSBURG— A BALLAD. 

By  Paul  H.  Hayne. 

^OR  sixty  days  and  upwards, 

^ A storm  of  shell  and  shot 
Rained  ’round  us  in  a flaming  shower, 

But  still  we  faltered  not ! 

“ If  the  noble  city  perish,” 

Our  brave  young  leader  said, 

“ Let  the  only  walls  the  foe  shall  scale 
Be  the  ramparts  of  the  dead  !” 

For  sixty  days  and  upwards 

The  eye  of  heaven  waxed  dim. 

And  even  throughout  God’s  holy  morn. 
O’er  Christian  prayer  and  hymn. 
Arose  a hissing  tumult, 

As  if  the  fiends  of  air 
Strove  to  ingulf  the  voice  of  faith 
In  the  shrieks  of  their  despair. 

There  was  wailing  in  the  houses. 

There  w^as  trembling  on  the  marts, 

While  the  tempest  raged  and  thundered, 

’Mid  the  silent  thrill  of  hearts ; 

But  the  Lord,  our  shield,  was  with  us. 

And  ere  a month  had  sped 
Our  very  women  walked  the  streets 
With  scarce  one  throb  of  dread. 

And  the  little  children  gambolled — 

Their  faces  purely  raised. 

Just  for  a wondering  moment. 

As  the  huge  bomb  whirled  and  blazed ! 
Then  turned  with  silvery  laughter 

To  the  sports  which  children  love, 
Thrice  mailed  in  the  sweet,  instinctive  thought. 
That  the  good  God  watched  above. 


36 


IVAJ?  SOJVGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Yet  the  hailing  bolts  fell  faster, 

From  scores  of  flame-clad  ships, 

And  about  us,  denser,  darker, 

Grew  the  conflict’s  wild  eclipse, 

Till  a solid  cloud  closed  o’er  us. 

Like  a type  of  doom  and  ire, 

7v'hence  shot  a thousand  quivering  tongues 
Of  forked  and  vengeful  fire. 


But  the  unseen  hands  of  angels 

Those  death-shafts  turned  aside, 
And  the  dove  of  heavenly  mercy 
Euled  o’er  the  battle  tide  ; 

In  the  houses  ceased  the  wailing, 

And  through  the  war-scarred  marts 
The  people  trod  with  the  step  of  hope, 
To  the  music  in  their  hearts. 


SONNET-  THE  AVATAR  OF  HELL. 


IX  thousand  years  of  commune,  God  with  man. 


^ Two  thousand  years  of  Christ ; yet  from  such  roots, 
Immortal,  earth  reaps  only  bitterest  fruits  I 
The  fiends  rage  now  as  when  they  first  began ! 

Hate  I Lust!  Greed,  Vanity,  triumphant  still, 

Yell,  shout,  exult,  and  lord  o’er  human  will  I 
The  sun  moves  back  1 The  fond  convictions  felt. 

That,  in  the  progress  of  the  race,  we  stood. 

Two  thousand  years  of  height  above  the.  flood 
Before  tlie  day’s  experience  sink  and  melt. 

As  frost  beneath  the  fire  1 and  what  remains 
Of  all  our  grand  ideals  and  great  gains. 

With  Goth,  Hun,  Vandal,  warring  in  their  pride, 
While  the  meek  Christ  is  hourly  crucified  I 


MONUMENT  TO  THE  CONFEDERATE  DEAD  IN  “HOLLYWOOD” 
CEMETERY,  RICH  MON  D,  VI  RGI  N I A 

Here  lie  12,000  Confederate  dead,  to  whose  memory  Virginia’s  noblewomen  erected  a 
monument  of  rough  Virginia  granite  nearly  100  feet  tall  in  the  shape  of  a pyramid. 
From  a photograph  taken  for  this  work  by  Fdyth  Carter  Beveridge. 


WAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


37 


CAPTAIN  LATANE. 

By  John  E.  Thompson,  of  Virginia. 

This  pathetic  poem  tells  its  own  incident,  w^hich  appeals  to  everyone 
who  thinks  of  stranger  hands  laying  one’s  friend  to  rest  when  death  has 
claimed  its  own.  By  the  courtesy  of  Mrs.  James  T.  Halsey,  the  daughter 
of  the  distinguished  General  Dabney  H.  Maury,  the  editor  is  permitted  to 
reproduce  elsewhere  for  this  work  a picture  in  her  possession  portraying  the 
scene  described  in  this  poem. 

^^HE  combat  raged  not  long ; but  ours  the  day, 

And  through  the  hosts  which  compassed  us  around 
Our  little  band  rode  proudly  on  its  way. 

Leaving  one  gallant  spirit,  glory  crowned, 

Unburied  on  the  field  he  died  to  gain; 

Single,  of  all  his  men,  among  the  hostile  slain  ! 

One  moment  at  the  battle’s  edge  he  stood, 

Hope’s  halo,  like  a helmet,  round  his  hair — 

The  next,  beheld  him  dabbled  in  his  blood. 

Prostrate  in  death ; and  yet  in  death  how  fair  I 
And  thus  he  passed,  through  the  red  gates  of  strife, 

From  earthly  crowns  and  palms,  to  an  eternal  life. 

A brother  bore  his  body  from  the  field, 

And  gave  it  into  strangers’  hands,  who  closed 
His  calm  blue  eyes,  on  earth  forever  sealed. 

And  tenderly  the  slender  limbs  composed ; 

Strangers,  but  sister,  who  with  Mary’s  love. 

Sat  by  the  open  tomb  and,  weeping,  looked  above, 

A little  girl  strewed  roses  on  his  bier. 

Pale  roses — not  more  stainless  than  his  soul. 

Nor  yet  more  fragrant  than  his  life  sincere. 

That  blossomed  with  good  actions — brief,  but  whole 
The  aged  matron,  with  the  faithful  slave. 

Approached  with  reverent  steps  the  hero’s  lowly  grave. 


S8 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


No  man  of  God  might  read  the  burial  rite 
Above  the  rebel — thus  declared  the  foe, 

Who  blanched  before  him  in  the  deadly  fight ; 

But  woman’s  voice,  in  accents  soft  and  low. 

Trembling  with  pity,  touched  with  pathos,  read 
Over  his  hallowed  dust,  the  ritual  for  the  dead  I 

‘^^Tis  sown  in  weakness ; it  is  raised  in  power.” 

Soft  the  promise  floated  on  the  air. 

And  the  sweet  breathings  of  the  sunset  hour, 

Come  back  responsive  to  the  mourner’s  prayer. 

Gently  they  laid  him  underneath  the  sod. 

And  left  him  with  his  fame,  his  country  and  his  God. 

We  should  not  weep  for  him  1 His  deeds  endure  ; 

So  young,  so  beautiful,  so  brave — he  died 
As  he  would  wish  to  die.  The  past  secure. 

Whatever  yet  of  sorrow  may  betide 
Those  who  still  linger  by  the  stormy  shore  ; 

Change  cannot  hurt  him  now,  nor  fortune  reach  him  more. 

And  when  Virginia,  leaning  on  her  spear, 

Vitrix  et  vidua,  the  conflict  done. 

Shall  raise  her  mailed  hand  to  wipe  the  tear 
That  starts,  as  she  recalls  each  martyr  son  ; 

No  prouder  memory  her  breast  shall  sway 
Than  thine — the  early  lost — lamented  Latane  ! 


WAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


39 


' ^‘THE  CONFEDERATE  NOTE.” 

Written  by  Major  S.  A.  Jonas,  of  Mississippi. 

On  a Confederate  note  at  the  surrender  of  the  Confederate  army.  See 
illustration  of  an  old  note  with  endorsement  made  by  a deserving  ofl&cer 

^ EPRESENTiNiNG  nothing  on  God’s  earth  now, 

And  naught  in  the  water  below  it — 

As  a pledge  of  the  nation  that’s  dead  and  gone, 

Keep  it,  dear  friend,  and  show  it. 

Show  it  to  those  who  will  lend  an  ear 
To  the  tale  that  this  paper  can  tell, 

Of  liberty  born,  of  patriot’s  dream — 

Of  the  storm  cradled  nation  that  fell. 

Too  poor  to  possess  the  precious  ores. 

And  too  much  of  a stranger  to  borrow, 

We  issued  to-day  our  promise  to  pay. 

And  hope  to  redeem  on  the  morrow. 

The  days  rolled  on  and  weeks  becanle  years, 
But  our  coffers  were  empty  still. 

Coin  was  so  rare  that  the  Treasury  quaked, 

If  a dollar  should  drop  in  the  till. 

But  the  faith  that  was  in  us  was  strong  indeed. 

And  our  poverty  well  discerned  ; 

And  these  little  checks  represented  the  pay. 

That  our  volunteers  earned. 

We  know  it  had  hardly  value  in  gold. 

Yet  as  gold  her  soldier  received  it. 

It  gazed  in  our  eyes  with  a promise  to  pay, 
And  each  patriot  soldier  believed  it. 


40 


IVAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  our  boys  thought  little  of  price  of  pay, 

Or  of  bills  that  were  ever  due ; 

We  knew  if  it  brought  us  bread  to-day, 

’Twas  the  best  our  poor  country  could  do. 


Keep  it,  for  it  tells  our  history  o’er, 

From  the  birth  of  its  dreams  to  the  last, 
Modest  and  born  of  the  angel  Hope, 

Like  the  hope  of  success  it  passed. 


EULOGY  OF  THE  DEAD. 
By  B.  F.  Porter,  of  Alabama. 


“ Weep  not  for  the  dead  ; neither  bemoan  him.” — ^Jeremiah. 
H ! weep  not  for  the  dead. 


Whose  blood  for  freedom  shed, 
Is  hallowed  evermore ! 

Who  on  the  battle-field 
Could  die — but  never  yield  ! 

Oh,  bemoan  them  never  more — 
They  live  immortal  in  their  gore  I 


Oh,  what  is  it  to  die 
Midst  shouts  of  victory. 

Our  rights  and  home  defending  I 
Oh  I what  were  fame  and  life 
Gained  in  that  basest  strife 
For  tyrants’  power  contending. 
Our  country’s  bosom  rending  I 


Oh  I dead  of  red  Manassas  ! 

Oh  ! dead  of  Shiloh’s  fray  ! 

Oh  I victors  of  the  Pichmond  field  I 
Dead  on  your  mother’s  breast, 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


41 


You  live  in  glorious  rest  I 
Each  on  his  honored  shield, 

Immortal  in  each  bloody  field  ! 

Oh  ! sons  of  noble  mothers  I 
Oh  ! youth  of  maiden  lovers  I 
Oh  ! husbands  of  chaste  wives  I 
Though  asleep  in  beds  of  gore, 

You  return,  oh  ! never  more  ; 

Still  immortal  are  your  lives  ! 
Immortal  mothers  I lovers  ! wives  I 

How  blest  is  he  who  draws 
His  sword  in  freedom’s  cause  I 
Though  dead  on  battle-field. 

Forever  to  his  tomb 
Shall  youthful  heroes  come. 

Their  hearts  for  freedom  steeled. 

And  learn  to  die  on  battle-field. 

As  at  Thermopylae, 

Grecian  child  of  liberty  ; 

Swears  to  despot  ne’er  to  yield — 
Here,  by  our  glorious  dead. 

Let’s  revenge  the  blood  they’ve  shed, 
Or  die  on  bloody  field, 

By  the  sons  who  scorned  to  yield  I 

Oh  I mothers  ! lovers  ! wives  ! 

Oh  I weep  no  more — our  lives 
Are  our  country’s  evermore  I 
More  glorious  in  your  graves. 

Than  if  living  Lincoln’s  slaves, 

Ye  will  perish  never  more. 

Martyred  on  our  fields  of  gore  I 


42 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


GENDEON  PALMER,  OF  THE  HOLCOMBE  LEGION. 
By  Ina  M.  Porter,  of  Alabama. 

TT E sleeps  upon  Virginia’s  strand, 

While  comrades  of  the  Legion  stand 
With  arms  reversed — a mournful  band — 

Around  his  early  bier  I 
His  war-horse  paws  the  shaking  ground, 

The  volleys  ring — they  close  around — 

And  on  the  white  brow,  laurel-bound, 

Falls  many  a soldier’s  tear. 

Up,  stricken  mourners  ! look  on  high. 

Loud  anthems  rend  the  echoing  sky, 
Ee-born  where  heroes  never  die — 

The  warrior  is  at  rest ! 

Gone  is  the  weary,  pain- traced  frown ; 

Life’s  march  is  o’er,  his  arms  cast  down, 

His  plumes  replaced  by  shining  crown. 

The  red  cross  on  his  breast  I 

Though  Gendron’s  arm  is  with  the  dust. 

Let  not  his  blood-stained  weapon  rust. 

Bequeathed  to  one  who’ll  bear  the  trust, 

Where  Southern  banners  fly  I 
Some  brave,  who  followed  where  he  led— 

Aye,  swear  him  o’er  the  martyred  dead, 

To  avenge  each  drop  of  blood  he  shed. 

Or,  like  him,  bravely  die  I 

He  deemed  a death  for  honor  sweet, — 
And  thus  he  fell — ’Tis  doubly  meet. 

Our  flag  should  be  his  winding-sheet. 
Proud  banner  of  the  free  I 
Oh,  let  his  honored  form  be  laid 
Beneath  the  loved  Palmetto’s  shade  ; 

His  praises  sung  by  Southern  maid. 

While  flows  the  broad  Santee  I 


JVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


43 


We  come  around  his  urn  to  twine 
Sweet  clusters  of  the  jasmine  vine, 

Culled  where  our  tropic  sunbeams  shine, 

From  skies  deep-dyed  and  bright ; 

And,  kneeling,  vow  no  right  to  yield  I 
On,  brothers,  on  I — Fight  I win  the  field  I 
Or  dead  return  on  battered  shield, 

As  martyrs  for  the  right  I 

Where  camp-fires  light  the  reddened  sod. 
The  grief-bowed  Legion  kneel  to  God, 

In  Palmer’s  name,  and  by  his  blood. 

They  swell  the  battle-cry  ; 

We’ll  sheathe  no  more  our  dripping  steel, 
’Till  tyrants  Southern  vengeance  feel. 
And  menial  hordes  as  suppliants  kneel, 
Or,  terror-stricken,  fly  I 


THE  SILENT  MARCH. 

On  one  occasion  during  the  war  in  Virginia  General  Lee  lay  dowui  by 
the  wayside  for  a few  minutes’  rest.  Fifteen  thousand  men  passed  by  with 
noiseless  step,  because  it  was  whispered  from  one  to  the  other  all  down  the 
line,  “ Mars  Bob’s  asleep ; don’t  wake  him.” 

^^’ercome  with  weariness  and  care, 

The  war-worn  veteran  lay 
On  the  green  turf  of  his  native  land, 

And  slumbered  by  the  way  ; 

The  breeze  that  sighed  across  his  brow. 

And  smoothed  its  deeped  lines. 

Fresh  from  his  own  loved  mountain  bore 
The  murmur  of  their  pines  ; 

And  the  glad  sound  of  waters. 

The  blue  rejoicing  streams. 

Whose  sweet  familiar  tones  were  blent 
With  the  music  of  his  dreams : 


44 


IVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


They  brought  no  sound  of  battle’s  din, 
Shrill  fife  or  clarion, 

But  only  tenderest  memories 
Of  his  own  fair  Arlington. 

While  thus  the  chieftain  slumbered, 
Forgetful  of  his  care, 

The  hollow  tramp  of  thousands 

Came  sounding  through  the  air: 
With  ringing  spur  and  sabre. 

And  trampling  feet  they  come, 
Gay  plume  and  rustling  banner, 

And  fife,  and  trump,  and  drum; 
But  soon  the  foremost  column 

Sees  where,  beneath  the  shade. 

In  slumber,  calm  as  childhood. 

Their  wearied  chief  is  laid  ; 

And  down  the  line  a murmur 
From  lip  to  lip  there  ran, 

Until  the  stilly  whisper 

Had  spread  to  rear  from  van ; 

And  o’er  the  host  a silence 
As  deep  and  sudden  fell, 

As  though  some  mighty  wizard 

Had  hushed  them  with  a spell ; 
And  every  sound  was  muffled. 

And  every  soldier’s  tread 
Fell  lightly  as  a mother’s 

’Bound  her  baby’s  cradle-bed  ; 

And  rank,  and  file,  and  column. 

So  softly  by  they  swept. 

It  seemed  a ghostly  army 

Had  passed  him  as  he  slept , 

But  mightier  than  enchantment 
Was  that  with  magic  move — 

The  spell  that  hushed  their  voices— 
Deep  reverence  and  love. 


THE  BURIAL  OF  LATANE 

From  a rare  engraving  in  possession  of  Mrs.  James  T.  Halsey,  President  of  the  “Daughters  of  the  Confederacy”  of  Philadelphia, 
loaned  for  this  work.  The  pathetic  story  is  beautifully  described  in  the  poem  of  the  same  title. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


45 


«THE  MARYLAND  LINE.” 

By  J.  D.  McCabe,  Jr. 

The  Maryland  regiments  in  the  Confederate  army  adopted  the  title  of 
The  Maryland  Line,”  which  was  so  heroically  sustained  by  their  patriot 
sires  of  the  first  Revolution,  and  which  the  deeds  of  Marylanders  at  Manas- 
sas, show  that  the  patriot  Marylanders  of  this  second  Revolution  are  worthy 
to  bear. 


"D  Y old  Potomac’s  rushing  tide, 

Our  bayonets  are  gleaming ; 

And  o’er  the  bounding  waters  wide 
We  gaze,  while  tears  are  streaming. 

The  distant  hills  of  Maryland 
Rise  sadly  up  before  us — 

And  tyrant  bands  have  chained  our  land, 

Our  mother  proud  that  bore  us. 

Our  proud  old  mother’s  queenly  head 
Is  bowed  in  subjugation  ; 

With  her  children’s  blood  her  soil  is  red, 

And  fiends  in  exultation 

Taunt  her  with  shame  as  they  bind  her  chains. 
While  her  heart  is  torn  with  anguish  ; 

Old  mother,  on  famed  Manassas’  plains 
Our  vengeance  did  not  languish. 

We  thought  of  your  wrongs  as  on  we  rushed, 
’Mid  shot  and  shell  appalling  ; 

We  heard  your  voice  as  it  upward  gush’d, 

From  the  Maryland  life-blood  falling. 

No  pity  we  knew  I Did  they  mercy  show 
When  they  bound  the  mother  that  bore  us? 

But  we  scattered  death  ’mid  the  dastard  foe 
Till  they,  shrieking,  fled  before  us. 


46 


IVAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


We  mourn  for  our  brothers  brave  that  fell 
On  that  field  so  stern  and  gory ; 

But  their  spirits  rose  with  our  triumph  yell 
To  the  heavenly  realms  of  glory. 

And  their  bodies  rest  on  the  hard-won  field — 
By  their  love  so  true  and  tender, 

We’ll  keep  the  prize  they  would  not  yield, 
We’ll  die,  but  we’ll  not  surrender. 


GENERAL  ALBERT  SIDNEY  JOHNSTON. 

[Killed  at  the  Battle  of  Shiloh,  Term.,  April  6,  1862, 
while  leading  and  directing  his  troops.] 

By  Mary  Jervey,  of  Charleston. 

T N thickest  fight  triumphantly  he  fell, 

While  into  victory’s  arms  he  led  us  on  ; 

A death  so  glorious  our  grief  should  quell : 

We  mourn  him,  yet  his  battle-crown  is  won. 

No  slanderous  tongue  can  vex  his  spirit  now, 

No  bitter  taunts  can  stain  his  blood-bought  fame ; 

Immortal  honor  rests  upon  his  brow, 

And  noble  memories  cluster  round  his  name. 

For  hearts  shall  thrill  and  eyes  grow  dim  with  tears. 
To  read  the  story  of  his  touching  fate; 

How  in  his  death  the  gallant  soldier  wears 

The  crown  that  came  for  earthly  life  too  late. 

Ye  people  ! guard  his  memory — sacred  keep 
The  garlands  green  above  his  hero-grave ; 

Yet  weep,  for  praise  can  never  wake  his  sleep. 

To  tell  him  he  is  shrined  among  the  brave  I 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


47 


^‘STONEWALL  JACKSON’S  WAY.’’ 

By  John  Williamson  Palmer 

These  verses  were  found  written  on  a small  piece  of  paper,  all  stained 
with  blood,  in  the  bosom  of  a dead  soldier  of  the  old  Stonewall  Brigade, 
after  one  of  Jackson’s  battles  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley.  There  had  been 
terrific  fighting,  and  Jackson  had  encountered  three  separate  armies, 
defeating  each  in  turn.  It  is  well  known  that  he  was  a man  of  prayer. 
His  servant  man,  a faithful  negro,  would  sometimes  go  out  early  in  the 
morning  to  the  officer’s  camp  and  say : “ Gentlemen,  there’s  gwine  to  be 
hard  fightin’  to-day  ; Mars  Tom  was  on  his  knees  praying  all  night  long.” 
Jackson’s  favorite  way  of  sending  the  news  of  his  victories  to  Richmond, 
the  headquarters  of  the  Confederacy,  was  the  follo’sving  telegram;  “God 
has  blessed  our  arms  with  another  glorious  victory.”  No  wonder,  then,  that 
the  spirit  of  prayer  should  have  been  in  this  wonderful  poem.  Though  the 
author  is  unknown,  this  beautiful  production  will  go  down  the  ages  as  a 
classic  in  the  English  language.  See  the  air  to  which  this  is  sung,  page  61. 

^OME,  stack  arms  men,  pile  on  the  rails — 

Stir  up  the  camp-fire  bright; 

No  matter  if  the  canteen  fails, 

We’ll  make  a roaring  night. 

Here  Shenandoah  crawls  along, 

Here  burly  Blue  Bidge  echoes  strong, 

To  swell  the  brigade’s  rousing  song, 

Of  Stonewall  Jackson’s  way.” 

We  see  him  now — the  old  slouched  hat 
Couched  o’er  his  eye  askew — 

The  shrewd,  dry  smile — the  speech  so  pat. 

So  calm,  so  blunt,  so  true. 

The  Blue  Light  Elder  ” knows  ’em  well : 

Says  he,  That’s  Bank’s,  he’s  fond  of  shell  ; 

Lord,  save  his  soul ! we’ll  give  him ” well 

That’s  “Stonewall  Jackson’s  way.” 

Silence!  ground  arms  ! kneel  all  1 caps  off! 

Old  “ Blue  Light’s  ” going  to  pray  ; 

Strangle  the  fool  that  dares  to  scoff  1 
Attention  ! it’s  his  way  1 


48 


iFAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Appealing  from  his  native  sod, 

“ Hear  us,  Almighty  God  I 
Lay  bare  thine  arm,  stretch  forth  thy  rod, 

Amen  I ” That’s  Stonewall  Jackson’s  way. 

He’s  in  the  saddle  now  I Fall  in  I 
Steady  I The  whole  brigade  I 
Hill’s  at  the  ford,  cut  off ; we’ll  win 
His  way  out,  ball  and  blade. 

What  matter  if  our  shoes  are  worn  ? 

What  matter  if  our  feet  are  torn  ? 

Quick  step  I we’re  with  him  ere  the  dawn  f 
That’s  Stonewall  Jackson’s  way  I 

The  sun’s  bright  lances  rout  the  mists 
Of  morning — and,  by  George  I 
Here’s  Longstreet,  struggling  in  the  lists, 

Hemmed  in  an  ugly  gorge. 

Pope  and  his  Yankees,  whipped  before; 

Bayonets  and  grape  I ” hear  Stonewall  roar; 
Charge,  Stuart  I pay  off  Ashby’s  score,” 

Is  Stonewall  Jackson’s  way ! 

Ah  I maiden,  wait,  and  watch,  and  yearn. 
For  news  of  Stone  wall’s  band  I 
Ah  I widow,  read — with  eyes  that  burn — 
That  ring  upon  thy  hand  I 
Ah  I wife,  sew  on,  hope  on,  and  pray  1 
Thy  life  shall  not  be  all  forlorn — 

The  foe  had  better  ne’er  been  born, 

That  gets  in  Stonewall’s  way. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


49 


NO,  HE’LL  NOT  NEED  THEM  AGAIN.” 

On  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Franklin,  Tennessee,  Major-General 
Patrick  Cleburne,  while  riding  along  the  lines  encouraging  his  men,  saw  an 
old  friend,  a Captain  of  his  command,  bare-footed,  his  feet  sore  and  bleed- 
ing— a pitiful  sight  to  look  upon,  indeed.  Dismounting  at  once,  he  walked 
up  to  the  Captain  and  said  : “ Captain,  will  you  kindly  pull  off  my  boots?” 
The  Captain  looked  up  in  some  surprise,  but,  always  ready  to  obey  his  com- 
manding officer,  responded  at  once  to  the  request  of  the  General,  and 
pulled  off  his  boots,  holding  them  in  his  hands  as  if  asking^  “ What  next?  ” 
The  General  said  to  him,  “ Captain,  will  you  try  them  on  and  see  if  they 
will  fit  you?”  This  the  Captain  did  also.  The  General  then  turned  and 
mounted  his  horse,  saying,  “ Captain,  I am  tired  wearing  those  boots,  and 
can  do  well  without  them.”  The  Captain  remonstrated,  and  so  did  others 
around  him,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  them.  With  a pleasant  smile,  he 
saluted  the  Captain,  and  saying,  “ Good-bye,  Captain,”  he  rode  away. 
That  day  he  was  killed,  and  was  taken  from  the  field  in  the  condition  in 
which  he  had  left  the  Captain. 

no  I he’ll  not  need  them  again — 

No  more  will  he  wake  to  behold 
The  splendor  and  fame  of  his  men, 

The  tale  of  his  victories  told  I 
No  more  will  he  wake  from  that  sleep 

Which  he  sleeps  in  his  glory  and  fame, 

While  his  comrades  are  left  here  to  weep 
Over  Cleburne,  his  grave  and  his  name. 

Oh,  no  I he’ll  not  need  them  again  ; 

No  more  will  his  banner  be  spread 
O’er  the  field  of  his  gallantry’s  fame — 

The  soldier’s  proud  spirit  is  fled  ! 

The  soldier  who  rose  ’mid  applause. 

From  the  humblemost  place  in  the  van — 
T sing  not  in  praise  of  the  cause 

But  rather  in  praise  of  the  man. 


4 


50 


WAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Oh,  no  I he’ll  not  need  them  again  ; 

He  has  fought  his  last  battle  without  them, 

For  barefoot  he,  too,  must  go  in. 

While  barefoot  stood  comrades  about  him ; 

And  barefoot  they  proudly  marched  in. 

With  blood  flowing  fast  from  their  feet ; 

They  thought  of  the  past  victories  won. 

And  the  foes  that  they  now  were  to  meet. 

Oh,  no  I he’ll  not  need  them  again  ; 

He  is  leading  his  men  to  the  charge, 
Unheeding  the  shells,  or  the  slain, 

Or  the  showers  of  the  bullets  at  large 
On  the  right,  on  the  left,  on  the  flanks. 

He  dashingly  pushes  his  way. 

While  with  cheers,  double-quick  and  in  ranks, 
His  soldiers  all  followed  that  day. 

Oh,  no  ! he’ll  not  need  them  again ; 

He  falls  from  his  horse  to  the  ground  ! 

Oh,  anguish  I oh,  sorrow  I oh,  pain  I 

In  the  brave  hearts  that  gathered  around. 

He  breathes  not  of  grief,  nor  a sigh 

On  the  breast  where  he  pillowed  his  head. 

Ere  he  flx’d  his  last  gaze  upon  high — 

“ I’m  killed,  boys,  but  flght  it  out,”  said. 

Oh,  no  ! he’ll  not  need  them  again ; 

But  treasure  them  up  for  his  sake  ; 

And  oh  I should  you  sing  a refrain 

Of  the  memories  they  still  must  awake, 
Sing  it  soft  as  the  summer-eve  breeze, 

Let  it  sound  as  refreshing  and  clear ; 

Tho’  grief-born,  there’s  that  which  can  please 
In  thoughts  that  are  gemmed  with  a tear. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


51 


STACK  ARMS/^ 

Written  in  the  prison  of  Fort  Delaware,  Del.,  on  hearing 
of  the  surrender  of  General  Lee. 

By  Jos.  Blyth  Alston. 

It  makes  a great  difference  as  to  the  circumstances  under  which  the 
soldier  hears  these  words  of  command.  Sometimes,  upon  the  drill-ground, 
“ Stack  arms  ” is  a sweet  relief ; sometimes,  after  a long  and  weary  march, 
“ Stack  arms  ” is  ordered,  and  the  men  know  there  is  rest  for  their  tired 
bodies.  I stood  one  day  in  line  with  the  men  of  the  South  when  the  order 
“ Stack  arms  ! ” was  given.  It  was  on  Sunday  morning,  April  9,  1865.  We 
were  in  line  of  battle,  and  well  did  we  know  when  this  order  was  given  that 
it  meant  the  surrender  of  our  army.  Two  days  later  we  were  in  line  again  ; 
the  long  blue  line  of  the  Federal  army  confronted  us.  We  stood  within  ten 
feet  of  each  other,  face  to  face.  Again  the  order  was  given,  “ Stack  arms,” 
and  we  placed  our  muskets  upon  the  ground,  with  their  muzzles  touching 
each  other  in  the  air,  and  around  the  stack  we  wrapped  the  tattered,  bullet- 
torn  battle-flag  of  our  loved  Confederacy,  and  came  away.  Strong  men 
wept  like  children  as  with  awkward  stride  they  turned  away  from  the  foe 
they  had  never  feared  to  face ; and  even  now,  if  the  command  had  been 
given  to  “ Take  arms,”  the  men  would  have  gladly  plunged  into  the  fight 
until  not  one  should  have  been  left  to  tell  the  tale. 

Otack  Arms  ! ” I’ve  gladly  heard  the  cry 

^ When,  weary  with  the  dusty  tread 
Of  marching  troops,  as  night  drew  nigh, 

I sank  upon  my  soldier  bed, 

And  calmly  slept ; the  starry  dome 
Of  heaven’s  blue  arch  my  canopy, 

And  mingled  with  my  dreams  of  home. 

The  thoughts  of  Peace  and  Liberty. 

Stack  Arms  ! ” I’ve  heard  it,  when  the  shout 
Exulting,  rang  along  our  line, 

Of  foes  hurled  back  in  bloody  rout, 

Captured,  dispersed ; its  tones  divine 
Then  came  to  mine  enraptured  ear. 

Guerdon  of  duty  nobly  done. 

And  glistening  on  my  cheek  the  tear 
Of  grateful  joy  for  victory  won. 


UNIVERSITY  OF 
ILLINOIS  LIBRARV 


52 


WAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Stack  Arms  I ” In  faltering  accents,  slow 
And  sad,  it  creeps  from  tongue  to  tongue. 
A broken,  murmuring  wail  of  woe. 

From  manly  hearts  by  anguish  wrung. 
Like  victims  of  a midnight  dream. 

We  move,  we  know  not  how  nor  why, 
For  life  and  hope  but  phantoms  seem. 

And  it  would  be  relief — to  die  I 


“LORENA.’’ 

As  the  soldier  boys  went  from  their  homes  many  of  them  (not  to  say 
every  one  of  them)  left  their  sweethearts  behind.  Many  were  the  love 
songs  that  were  vrritten  in  those  days,  sung  by  the  lad  to  his  lassie,  and 
then  when  he  was  far  away  ?t  the  front  he  sang  them  in  the  camp,  and  she 
in  the  home,  with  the  hope  of  an  early  meeting  again.  As  this  httle  song 
comes  to  my  mind  it  brings  up  a thousand  associations  of  the  past,  as  it 
will  do  in  the  minds  of  others  who  knew  it,  and  sang  it,  in  the  long-ago  past. 

years  creep  slowly  by,  Lorena  ; 

The  snow  is  on  the  grass  again  ; 

The  sun’s  low  down  the  sky,  Lorena ; 

The  frost  gleams  where  the  flowers  have  been. 

But  the  heart  throbs  on  as  warmly  now 
As  when  the  summer  days  were  nigh  ; 

Oh  ! the  sun  can  never  dip  so  low 
Adown  affection’s  cloudless  sky. 

A hundred  months  have  passed,  Lorena, 

Since  last  I held  that  hand  in  mine. 

And  felt  the  pulse  beat  fast,  Lorena, 

Though  mine  beat  faster  far  than  thine, 

A hundred  months — ’twas  flowery  May, 

When  up  the  hilly  slope  we  climbed. 

To  watch  the  dying  of  the  day 

And  hear  the  distant  church  bells  chimed. 


HOUSE  IN  WHICH  “STONEWALL”  JACKSON  DIED 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


63 


We  loved  each  other  then,  Lorena, 

More  than  we  ever  dared  to  tell ; 

And  what  we  might  have  been,  Lorena, 

Had  but  our  loving  prospered  well  I 

But  then,  His  past;  the  years  have  gone. 

I’ll  not  call  up  their  shadowy  forms  ; 

I’ll  say  to  them.  Lost  years,  sleep  on, 

Sleep  on,  nor  heed  life’s  pelting  storms. 

The  story  of  the  past,  Lorena, 

Alas  I I care  not  to  repeat ; 

The  hopes  that  could  not  last,  Lorena, 
They  lived,  but  only  lived  to  cheat. 

I would  not  cause  e’en  one  regret 
To  rankle  in  your  bosom  now — 

For  if  we  try  we  may  forget,” 

Were  words  of  thine  long  years  ago. 

Yes,  these  were  words  of  thine,  Lorena — 

They  are  within  my  memory  yet — 

They  touched  some  tender  chords,  Lorena, 

Which  thrill  and  tremble  with  regret. 

’Twas  not  the  woman’s  heart  which  spoke — 

Thy  heart  was  always  true  to  me  ; 

A duty  stern  and  piercing  broke 

The  tie  which  linked  my  soul  with  thee. 

It  matters  little  now,  Lorena, 

The  past  is  in  the  eternal  past ; 

Our  hearts  will  soon  lie  low,  Lorena, 

Life’s  tide  is  ebbing  out  so  fast. 

There  is  a future,  oh,  thank  God  ! 

• Of  life  this  is  so  small  a part — 

’Tis  dust  to  dust  beneath  the  sod. 

But  there,  up  there,  ’tis  heart  to  heart. 


64 


lVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


« NELLIE  GRAY.” 

The  sweetest  singers  in  all  the  world  are  the  “ darkeys”  of  the  South. 
You  may  call  their  songs  “ Plantation  ditties,”  or  “Coon  songs,”  or  what- 
ever you  will,  but  to  me  there  is  more  of  pathos  and  power  in  one  of  the 
old-fashioned  “ darkey  ” songs  of  the  South  than  in  many  of  the  magnificent 
oratorios  and  operas  of  the  present  day.  This  charming  little  song  is  one 
of  them.  It  comes  along  down  the  years  like  a bird  to  entertain  us  with 
its  sweet  and  charming  music.  This  song  is  sung  to-day  both  North  and 
South,  and  like  most  popular  songs  it  may  be  printed  in  several  forms. 
We  believe  the  following  version  is  as  it  should  appear.  The  authorship  of 
the  poem  is  in  doubt.  It  is  suggested  by  Mrs.  A.  T.  Smythe,  President 
of  the  “ Daughters  of  the  Confederacy,”  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  that 
the  author  is  Stephen  D.  Foster,  who  composed  it  to  be  sung  at  a public 
entertainment. 

^T^here’s  a low  green  valley  on  the  old  Kentucky  shore, 
There  I’ve  whiled  many  happy  hours  away; 
Sitting  and  singing  in  my  little  cabin  door, 

Where  lived  my  darling  Nellie  Gray. 

Chorus  : 

Oh,  my  poor  Nellie  Gray, 

They  have  taken  you  away 
And  I’ll  never  see  my  darling  any  more, 

I’m  sitting  by  the  river, 

And  I’m  watching  all  the  day. 

For  you’ve  gone  from  my  old  Kentucky  shore. 

When  the  moon  had  climbed  the  mountains, 

And  the  stars  were  shining  too. 

Then  I’d  take  my  darling  Nellie  Gray, 

And  we’d  float  down  the  river 
In  our  little  red  canoe 

While  my  banjo  sweetly  I would  play. — Chorus, 


n^AJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


55 


My  canoe  is  under  water, 

And  my  banjo  is  unstrung, 

Fm  tired  of  living  any  more. 

My  eyes  shall  look  downward, 

And  my  song  shall  be  unsung 

If  she^s  gone  from  my  old  Kentucky  shore. — Chorus. 

My  eyes  are  getting  blinded 
And  I cannot  see  my  way. 

Hark  I there  is  someone  knocking  at  the  door. 

Oh,  I hear  the  angels  calling, 

And  I see  my  Nellie  Gray. 

Farewell,  to  the  old  Kentucky  shore. — Chorus. 


MEN  OF  ALABAMA  r 
By  John  D.  Phelan,  of  Montgomery,  Alabama. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  first  Capital  of  the  Confederacy  was  estab- 
lished at  Montgomery,  Alabama.  The  men  of  that  noble  State  responded 
to  the  call  of  their  country  from  every  town,  and  hamlet,  and  home,  nor 
did  they  ever,  in  all  the  four  years,  lack  courage  and  devotion  to  her  cause. 
The  name  Alabama  is  an  Indian  name,  and  means  “ Here  we  rest.”  It  was 
a misnomer  in  those  days,  for  it  was  “ Here  we  hustle,  and  here  we  fight,” 
“ Usque  ad finem.'* 

men  of  Alabama, 

Awake,  arise,  awake  ! 

And  rend  the  coils  asunder 
Of  this  Abolition  snake. 

If  another  fold  he  fastens — 

If  this  final  coil  he  plies — 

In  the  cold  clasp  of  hate  and  power 
Fair  Alabama  dies. 

Though  round  your  lower  limbs  and  waist 
His  deadly  coils  I see, 

Y'et,  yet,  thank  Heaven  ! your  head  and  arms. 

And  good  right  hand  are  free  ; 


56 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  in  that  hand  there  glistens — 

0 God  I what  joy  to  feel ! — 

A polished  blade,  full  sharp  and  keen, 

Of  tempered  State  Eights  steel. 

Now,  by  the  free-born  sires 

From  whose  brave  loins  ye  sprung  I 
And  by  the  noble  mothers 

At  whose  fond  breasts  ye  hung  ! 
And  by  your  wives  and  daughters, 

And  by  the  ills  they  dread. 

Drive  deep  that  good  Secession  steel 

Eight  through  the  Monster’s  head. 

This  serpent  Abolition 

Has  been  coiling  on  for  years ; 

We  have  reasoned,  we  have  threatened. 

We  have  begged  almost  with  tears  : 

Now,  away,  away  with  Union, 

Since  on  our  Southern  soil 
The  only  union  left  us 
Is  an  anaconda’s  coil. 

Brave,  little  South  Carolina 

Will  strike  the  self-same  blow. 
And  Florida,  and  Georgia, 

And  Mississippi,  too ; 

And  Arkansas,  and  Texas ; 

And  at  her  death,  I ween. 

The  head  will  fall  beneath  the  blows 
Of  all  the  brave  Fifteen. 

In  this  our  day  of  trial, 

Let  feuds  and  factions  cease. 

Until  above  this  howling  storm 
We  see  the  sign  of  Peace. 


IV A SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


67 


Let  Southern  men,  like  brothers, 

In  solid  phalanx  stand, 

And  poise  their  spears,  and  lock  their  shields, 

To  guard  their  native  land. 

The  love  that  for  the  Union 
Once  in  our  bosoms  beat. 
From  insult  and  from  injury 

Has  turned  to  scorn  and  hate; 
And  the  banner  of  Secession 
To-day  we  lift  on  high, 
Besolved,  beneath  that  sacred  flag, 
To  conquer,  or  TO  DIE ! 


« STONEWALL’’  JACKSON. 

Mortally  wounded — '•'•The  Brigade  must  not  know  ^ sir.** 

It  is  a well  known  fact  that  Stonewall  Jackson  'was  killed  by  his  own 
men.  He  rode  through  the  picket  lines  at  Chancellorsville,  and  gave  orders 
that  they  must  fire  on  any  who  came  along  their  road,  not  expecting  to  re- 
turn that  way  himself ; but  changing  his  mind  afterward,  his  men,  obedient 
to  orders,  poured  a volley  of  shot  into  the  little  group  of  officers  and  men, 
and  we  all  know  'wdth  what  deadly  effect.  As  they  bore  General  Jackson  to 
the  rear,  mortally  wounded,  he  said  to  the  officer  who  had  him  in  charge, 
“The  brigade  must  not  know,  sir,  that  I am  wounded.” 

C i TTTho’ve  ye  got  there  ? ” — ‘^Only  a dying  brother, 

^ ^ Hurt  in  the  front  just  now.” 

“ Good  boy  I he’ll  do.  Somebody  tell  his  mother 
Where  he  was  killed,  and  how.’^ 

“ Whom  have  you  there  ? ” — A crippled  courier,  major, 

Shot  by  mistake,  we  hear. 

He  was  with  Stonewall.”  Cruel  work  they Ve  made  here  ; 
Quick  with  him  to  the  rear  I ” 


58 


IVAT^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Well,  who  comes  next  ? ” — Doctor,  speak  low,  speak  low,  sir; 
Don’t  let  the  men  find  out. 

“ It’s  Stonewall ! ” “ God  ! ” “ The  brigade  must  not  know,  sir, 

While  there’s  a foe  about.” 

Whom  have  we  here — shrouded  in  martial  manner, 

Crowned  with  a martyr’s  charm  ? 

A grand  dead  hero  in  a living  banner. 

Born  of  his  heart  and  arm. 

The  heart  whereon  his  cause  hung — see  how  clingeth 
That  banner  to  his  bier  ! 

The  arm  wherewith  his  cause  struck — hark  ! how  ringeth 
His  trumpet  in  their  rear  ! 

What  have  we  left  ? His  glorious  inspiration, 

His  prayers  in  council  met. 

Living,  he  laid  the  first  stones  of  a nation  ; 

And  dead,  he  builds  it  yet. 


CAROLINA.  April  14,  186L 

^AROLiNA ! Carolina  ! 

Noble  name  in  State  and  story, 

How  I love  thy  truthful  glory. 

As  I love  the  blue  sky  o’er  ye, 

Carolina  evermore  ! 

Carolina  I Carolina ! 

Land  of  chivalry  unfearing. 
Daughters  fair  beyond  comparing, 
Sons  of  worth  and  noble  daring, 
Carolina  evermore  I 

Carolina  ! Carolina  ! 

Soft  thy  clasp  in  loving  greeting. 

Plenteous  board  and  kindly  meeting, 

All  thy  pulses  nobly  beating, 

Carolina  evermore  ! 


lVA/^  SOJVGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


69 


Carolina  I Carolina  ( 

Green  thy  valleys,  bright  thy  heaven, 

Bold  thy  streams  through  forest  riven, 

Bright  thy  laurels,  hero-given, 

Carolina  evermore  I 

Carolina  I Carolina  I 

Holy  name,  and  dear  forever, 

Never  shall  thy  children,  never, 

Fail  to  strike  with  grand  endeavor, 
Carolina  evermore  I 

John  A Wagner,  of  S.  C. 


THE  ORIGINAL  ^‘DIXIEJ^ 

The  song  of  “ Dixie  ” is  indelibly  connected  with  the  South.  We  all 
know  the  air,  but  how  few  have  seen  the  original  song  I There  have  been 
many  versions,  but  we  give  here  the  original  one,  from  which  they  all 
sprang. 

T WISH  I was  in  the  land  of  cotton. 

Old  times  dar  am  not  forgotten  ; 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land, 

In  Dixie  Land,  whar  I was  born  in 

Early  on  one  frosty  morning 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land. 

Chorus  : 

Den  I wish  I was  in  Dixie, 

Hooray  I hooray  I 

• In  Dixie  Land  I’ll  took  my  stand. 

To  lib  and  die  in  Dixie. 

Away,  away,  away  down  South  in  Dixie  ; 
Away,  away,  away  down  South  in  Dixie. 

Old  missus  marry  Will  de  weaker?’' 

William  was  a gay  deceaber. 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land. 


60 


JV^J?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  when  he  put  his  arm  around  ’er, 

He  smiled  as  fierce  as  a forty-pounder, 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land. 

His  face  was  as  sharp  as  a butcher’s  cleaber. 

But  dat  did  not  seem  to  greabe  ’er. 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land. 
Old  missus  acted  the  foolish  part. 

And  died  for  the  man  dat  broke  her  heart, 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land. 

Now  here’s  a health  to  the  next  old  missus. 

And  all  the  gals  dat  want  to  kiss  us. 

Look  away,  look  away, -look  away,  Dixie  Land. 

But  if  you  want  to  drive  away  sorroe, 

Come  and  hear  dis  nig  to-morrow ; 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land. 

Der  buckwheat  cakes  and  ingen  batter 
Makes  you  fat,  or  a little  fatter. 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  I^and. 
Den  hoe  it  down  and  scratch  your  grabble 
To  Dixie  Land  I’m  bound  to  trabble. 

Look  away,  look  away,  look  away,  Dixie  Land. 


The  Old  Bell  House,  Capitol  Square,  Richmond,  Va. 


GENERAL  RICHARD  S.  EWELL  GENERAL  JAMES  LONGSTREET 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


61 


«E 

)IXIE’S 

- ^ 

; LAND 

tt 

♦ 

""f-  |.  h N 

3^ 

♦ 

-^J Ji — J — !L 

F 

F 



J — 

fs 

:t= 

— J-j 

=r; 

— i 

..... 

1= 

-ta — 

-J- a 

ft  ~ • - - 

- J 

^ 

J 

1 

•at- 

iH 

F-f-r- 

— h" 

1^--- 

4J — 

» ■ 'V 

i=r 

fj T 

=H= 

— P 

1^- ' 

— h 



=tp:j 

J 

^ r f-S 

4=^ 

: 

■ ■■-•#■ — 

"STONEWALL  JACKSON'S  ^ 

IfAY.” 

See  the  words  as  lound  in  the  beautitul  Poem  on  page  47.  They  were  written  by 
John  Williamson  Palmer  of  Charleston,  South  Carolina.  These  are  stirring  verses 
and  win  popularity  owing  to  this  air. 

-4ir 

Y-  J>K ^ 

-ft-T5 

irr — mi 

A,  ... 

w FPFI 

nm  1 

These  are  the  well-known  airs  of  war  days  for  songs,  then  so 
popular  with  the  soldier  boys. 


62 


lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


‘‘OUR  CONFEDERATE  DEAD.” 

What  the  Heart  of  a Young  Girl  Said  to  a Dead  Soldier. 

By  James  R.  Randall. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  customs  that  exist  in  the  South  is  the  habit  of 
the  people  once  a year  to  go  forth  and  scatter  flowers  upon  the  graves  of 
our  dead. 

Not  long  since  a friend  of  mine  was  standing  in  the  cemetery  at  Nash- 
ville, on  Decoration  Day,  and  seeing  a cart  pass  through  the  gates,  loaded 
with  a heavy  marble  slab,  he  followed  it,  and  soon  came  to  a grave  where  pre- 
parations were  being  made  to  plant  this  stone.  A gentleman  was  standing 
near,  and  my  friend  asked  him  if  it  was  the  grave  of  his  son.  “ No,’^  said  he, 
“ I was  a member  of  the  Tennessee  Company  ; my  wife  was  at  the  point  of 
death,  our  company  was  ordered  to  the  front,  and  this  young  man,  though 
under  the  prescribed  age,  came  to  me  and  insisted  upon  taking  my  place. 
He  was  killed  at  the  battle  of  Missionary  Ridge,  near  Chattanooga.’^  Upon 
the  stone  was  the  inscription  of  the  name  of  the  young  man  who  had  been 
killed,  then  of  the  name  of  the  man  who  was  having  the  stone  placed  at 
the  grave,  and  underneath  it  all  these  simple  words : “ He  died  for  me.” 
What  a book  could  be  written  of  such  incidents  of  splendid  heroism  aa 
characterized  the  true  w^arm-hearted  men  of  those  days. 

T T NKNOWN  to  me,  brave  boy,  but  still  I wreathe 
^ For  you  the  tenderest  of  wild  wood  flowers  ; 

And  o’er  your  tomb  a virgin’s  prayer  I breathe, 

To  greet  the  pure  moon  and  the  April  showers. 

I only  know,  I only  care  to  know, 

You  died  for  me — for  me  and  country  bled  ; 
A thousand  Springs  and  wild  December  snow 
Will  weep  for  one  of  all  the  Southern  dead. 

Perhaps  some  mother  gazes  up  the  skies, 

Wailing,  like  Rachel,  for  her  martyred  brave— 

Oh,  for  her  darling  sake,  my  dewy  eyes 

Moisten  the  turf  above  your  lowly  grave. 

The  cause  is  sacred,  when  our  maidens  stand 
Linked  with  sad  matrons  and  heroic  sires, 
Above  relics  of  a vanquished  land 

And  light  the  torch  of  sanctifying  fire 


IVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


63 


Your  bed  of  honor  has  a rosy  cope 

To  shimmer  back  the  tributary  stars ; 

And  every  petal  glistens  with  a hope 

Where  Love  hath  blossomed  in  the  disk  of  Mars. 

Sleep  I On  your  couch  of  glory  slumber  comes 
Bosomed  amid  the  archangelic  choir; 

Not  with  the  grumble  of  impetuous  drums 
Deepening  the  chorus  of  embattled  ire. 

Above  you  shall  the  oak  and  cedar  fling 

Their  giant  plumage  and  protecting  shade ; 

For  you  the  song-bird  pause  upon  his  wing 
And  warble  requiems  ever  undismayed. 

Farewell  I And  if  your  spirit  wander  near 
To  kiss  this  plant  of  unaspiring  art — 

Translate  it,  even  in  the  heavenly  sphere, 

As  the  libretto  of  a maiden’s  heart. 


THE  SOUTHERN  REPUBLIC. 

By  Miss  Thomas,  of  Mississippi. 

J^N  the  galaxy  of  nations, 

A nation’s  flag’s  unfurled, 

Transcending  in  its  martial  pride 
The  nations  of  the  world. 

Though  born  of  war,  baptized  in  blood, 

Yet  mighty  from  the  time. 

Like  fabled  phoenix,  forth  she  stood — 
Dismembered,  yet  sublime. 

And  braver  heart,  and  bolder  hand. 
Ne’er  formed  a fabric  fair 
As  Southern  wisdom  can  command, 
And  Southern  valor  rear. 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Though  kingdoms  scorn  to  own  her  sway, 

Or  recognize  her  birth, 

The  land  blood- bought  for  Liberty 
Will  reign  supreme  on  earth. 

Clime  of  the  Sun  \ Home  of  the  Brave  I 
Thy  sons  are  bold  and  free, 

And  pour  life’s  crimson  tide  to  save 
Their  birthright,  Liberty  1 
Their  fertile  fields  and  sunny  plains 
That  yield  the  wealth  alone, 

That’s  coveted  for  greedy  gains 
By  despots — and  a throne  ! 

Proud  country  I battling,  bleeding,  torn, 

Thy  altars  desolate ; 

Thy  lovely  dark-eyed  daughters  mourn 
At  war’s  relentless  fate  ; 

And  widows’  prayers,  and  orphans’  tears, 

Her  homes  will  consecrate. 

While  more  than  brass  or  marble  rears 
The  trophy  of  her  great. 

Oh  I land  that  boasts  each  gallant  narpe 
Of  Jackson,  Johnson,  Lee, 

And  hosts  of  valiant  sons,  whose  fame 
Extends  beyond  the  sea ; 

Far  rather  let  thy  plains  become. 

From  gulf  to  mountain  cave. 

One  honored  sepulchre  and  tomb, 

Than  we  the  tyrant’s  slave  I 

Fair,  favored  land  I thou  mayst  be  free; 

■Redeemed  by  blood  and  war ; 

Through  agony  and  gloom  we  see 
Thy  hope — a glimmering  star ; 


SONGS  OP'  THE  CONFEDERACY 


65 


Thy  banner,  too,  may  proudly  float, 

A herald  on  the  seas — 

Thy  deeds  of  daring  worlds  remote 
Will  emulate  and  praise  I 

But  who  can  paint  the  impulse  pure. 

That  thrills  and  nerves  thy  brave 
To  deeds  of  valor,  that  secure 

The  rights  their  fathers  gave  ? 

Oh  I grieve  not,  hearts  ; her  matchless  slain, 
Crowned  with  the  warrior’s  wreath 
From  beds  of  fame  their  proud  refrain 
Was  “ Liberty  or  Death  ! 


«TELL  THE  BOYS  THE  WAR  IS  ENDED  ” 

By  Emily  J.  Moore. 

Our  brave  Fitzhugh  Lee,  of  Virginia,  relates  an  interesting  anecdote 
concerning  himself  and  an  old  farmer ; After  the  surrender  at  Appomat- 
tox, General  Lee  was  on  his  way  home.  He  met  an  old  farmer  on  the  road 
on  his  w^ay  to  mill,  who  of  course  inquired  of  the  soldier  the  latest  news. 
“General  Lee  has  surrendered,”  he  answered,  “and  you  can  tell  your 
neighbors  that  the  war  is  over.”  “ What,”  said  the  old  farmer,  “ General 
Lee?”  “Yes,”  he  replied.”  “Oh,  no,”  said  he,  “You  cannot  mean 
Robert  Lee?”  “Yes,  sir,”  replied  the  General,  “ Robert  Lee  has  sur- 
rendered.” “ I don’t  believe  it,”  said  the  old  farmer,  and  he  rode  on,  say- 
ing as  he  went,  “That fool,  Fitz  Lee,  may  have  surrendered,  but  not  old 
Robert.’*  The  General  concluded  his  account  of  the  incident  by  saying 
that  he  thought  it  best,  under  the  circumstances,  not  to  make  himself 
known. 

i C^T^ell  the  boys  the  war  is  ended,’’ 

These  were  all  the  words  he  said; 

“ Tell  the  boys  the  war  is  ended,” 

In  an  instant  more  was  dead. 

Strangely  bright,  serene,  and  cheerful 
Was  the  smile  upon  his  face, 

While  the  pain,  of  late  so  fearful, 

Had  not  left  the  slightest  trace, 
ft 


66 


WAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Tell  the  boys  the  war  is  ended/^ 

And  with  heavenly  visions  bright 
Thoughts  of  comrades  loved  were  blended, 
As  his  spirit  took  its  flight. 

“ Tell  the  boys  the  war  is  ended/' 

“ Grant,  0 God,  it  may  be  so," 

Was  the  prayer  vv^hich  then  ascended, 

In  a whisper  deep,  though  low. 


Tell  the  boys  the  war  is  ended,” 

And  his  warfare  then  was  o'er, 

As,  by  angel  bands  attended. 

He  departed  from  earth’s  shore. 
Bursting  shells  and  cannon  roaring 
Could  not  rouse  him  by  their  din  ; 
He  to  better  worlds  was  soaring. 

Far  from  war,  and  pain,  and  sin. 


PRESIDENT  DAVIS. 


By  Jane  T.  H.  Cross. 


HE  cell  is  lonely,  and  the  night 


Has  filled  it  with  a darker  gloom; 

The  little  rays  of  friendly  light. 

Which  through  each  crack  and  chink  found  room 
To  press  in  with  their  noiseless  feet. 

All  merciful  and  fleet. 

And  bring,  like  Noah’s  trembling  dove, 

God’s  silent  messages  of  love — 

These,  too,  are  gone,  shut  out  and  gone. 

And  that  great  heart  is  left  alone. 


JVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


67 


Alone,  with  darkness  and  with  woe, 

Around  him  Freedom’s  temple  lies. 

Its  arches  crushed,  its  columns  low, 

The  night-wind  through  its  ruin  sighs  • 

Rash,  cruel  hands  that  temple  razed. 

Then  stood  the  world  amazed  I 

And  now  those  hands — ah,  ruthless  deeds  I 

Their  captive  pierce — his  brave  heart  bleeds ; 

And  yet  no  groan 
Is  heard,  no  groan  I 
He  suffers  silently,  alone. 

For  all  his  bright  and  happy  home. 

He  has  that  cell,  so  drear  and  dark. 
The  narrow  walls,  for  heaven’s  blue  dome, 
The  clank  of  chains,  for  song  of  lark  ; 
And  for  the  grateful  voice  of  friends — 

That  voice  which  ever  lends 

Its  charm  where  human  hearts  are  found— 

He  hears  the  key’s  dull,  grating  sound  ; 

No  heart  is  near. 

No  kind  heart  near. 

No  sigh  of  sympathy,  no  tear ! 

Oh,  dream  not  thus,  though  true  and  good  I 
Unnumbered  hearts  on  thee  await. 

By  thee  invisibly  have  stood. 

Have  crowded  through  thy  prison-gate  ; 

Nor  dungeon  bolts,  nor  dungeon  bars. 

Nor  floating  ‘‘  stripes  and  stars,” 

Nor  glittering  gun  or  bayonet. 

Can  ever  cause  us  to  forget 
Our  faith  to  thee. 

Our  love  to  thee, 

Thou  glourious  soul  I thou  strong  I thou  free  I 


68 


IVA/e  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  IRREPRESSIBLE  CONFLICT. 


It  is  a well-known  fact  that  during  the  War  many  people  spoke  and 
sang  more  bravely  than  they  fought.  I remember  a fiery  speech  that  I 
heard  in  the  early  days  of  the  War  on  the  great  green  in  our  County.  The 
speech  was  made  in  a frenzied  manner  by  a prominent  and  wealthy  farmer. 
One  expression  I shall  not  forget — “If  those  Yankees  come  down  lo  this 
sacred  soil,  I will  take  my  negroes,  and  my  neighbors,  and  drive  them  out 
of  the  country  with  corn  stalks.”  The  truth  is,  before  the  gentlemen 
referred  to  appeared  in  sight,  this  farmer  was  seen  with  his  slaves,  and  his 
cattle  (but  not  his  neighbors)  making  his  way  to  the  South,  and  he  never 
caught  the  smell  of  powder  during  the  whole  War. 

^ J ^HEN  welcome  be  it,  if  indeed  it  be 

The  Irrepressible  Conflict  I Let  it  come ; 

There  will  be  mitigation  of  the  doom, 

If,  battling  to  the  last,  our  sires  shall  see 
Their  sons  contending  for  the  homes  made  free 
In  ancient  conflict  with  the  foreign  foe  I 
If  those  who  call  us  brethren  strike  the  blow; 

No  common  conflict  shall  the  invader  know  I 
War  to  the  knife,  and  to  the  last,  until 

The  sacred  land  we  keep  shall  overflow 
With  blood  as  sacred — valley,  wave,  and  hill, 

Or  the  last  enemy  finds  his  bloody  grave  ! 

Aye  ! welcome  to  your  graves — or  ours  I The  brave 
May  perish,  but  ye  shall  not  bind  one  slave. 


THt  FIRST  WHITE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY  MONUMENT  TO  THE  CONFEDERATE  SOLDIERS 

This  was  the  residence  of  President  Jefferson  Davis  at  Montgomery,  Ala-  Erected  on  the  Capitol  Grounds,  Montgomery, 

bama.  It  is  now  known  as  the  home  of  the  T.adies’  Memorial  Association.  Alabama,  by  the  Ladies’  Memorial  Association. 


WAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


69 


SOUTH  CAROLINA, 


1719.  Colonial  Revolution. 

1763.  Colonial  History — Progress. 

1776.  American  Revolution. 

1812-15.  Second  War  with  Great  Britain. 

1830-32.  Nullification  for  State  Rights. 

1835-40.  Florida  War. 

1847.  Mexican  War — Palmetto  Regiment. 

1860-61.  Secession,  and  Third  War  for  Independence. 

Y brave  old  Country  ! I have  watched  thee  long 


Still  ever  first  to  rise  against  the  wrong ; 

To  check  the  usurper  in  his  giant  stride, 

And  brave  his  terrors  and  abase  his  pride  ; 

Forsee  the  insidious  danger  ere  it  rise, 

And  warn  the  heedless  and  inform  the  wdse  ; 
Scorning  the  lure,  the  bribe,  the  selfish  game, 

Which,  through  the  office,  still  becomes  the  shame  ; 

Thou  stood’st  aloof — superior  to  the  fate 

That  would  have  wrecked  thy  freedom  as  a State. 

In  vain  the  despot’s  threat,  his  cunning  lure  ; 

Too  proud  thy  spirit,  and  thy  heart  too  pure ; 

Thou  hadst  no  quest  but  freedom,  and  to  be 
In  conscience  well-assured,  and  people  free. 

The  statesman’s  lore  was  thine,  the  patriot’s  aim, 
These  kept  thee  virtuous,  and  preserved  thy  fame ; 
The  wisdom  still  for  council,  the  brave  voice. 

That  thrills  a people  till  they  all  rejoice. 

These  were  thy  birthrights  ; and  two  centuries  pass’d, 
As,  at  the  first,  still  find  thee  at  the  last ; 

Supreme  in  council,  resolute  in  will. 

Pure  in  thy  purpose — independent  still ! 

The  great  good  counsels,  the  examples  brave, 

Won  from  the  past,  not  buried  in  its  grave, 

Still  warm  your  soul  with  courage — still  impart 


70 


JVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Wisdom  to  virtue,  valor  to  the  heart ! 

Still  first  to  check  th’  encroachment — to  declare 
Thus  far  I no  further,  shall  the  assailant  dare  ; 

Thou  keep’st  thy  ermine  white,  thy  State  secure, 

Thy  fortunes  prosperous,  and  thy  freedom  sure ; 

No  glozing  art  deceives  thee  to  thy  bane  ; 

The  tempter  and  the  usurper  strive  in  vain  ! 

Thy  spear’s  first  touch  unfolds  the  fiendish  form. 

And  first,  with  fearless  breast,  thou  meet’st  the  storm ; 
Though  hosts  assail  thee,  thou  thyself  a host, 
Prepar’st  to  meet  the  invader  on  the  coast : 

Thy  generous  sons  contending  which  shall  be 
First  in  the  phalanx,  gathering  by  the  sea ; 

No  dastard  fear  appals  them,  as  they  teach 
How  best  to  hurl  the  bolt,  or  man  the  breech  ! 

Great  Soul  in  little  frame  ! the  hope  of  man 
Exults,  when  such  as  thou  art  in  the  van ! 

Unshaken,  unbeguiled,  unslaved,  unbought. 

Thy  fame  shall  brighten  with  each  battle  fought ; 
True  to  the  examples  of  the  past,  thou’lt  be. 

For  the  long  future,  best  security. 


A BALLAD  OF  THE  WAR. 


By  George  Herbert  Sass,  of  Charleston,  South  Carolina. 

"ITTatchman,  what  of  the  night  ? 

^ ^ Through  the  city’s  darkening  street. 

Silent  and  slow  the  guardsmen  go 
On  their  long  and  lonely  beat. 


Darkly,  drearily  down 

Falleth  the  wintry  rain  ; 

And  the  cold,  gray  mist  hath  the  roof-tops  kissed,. 
As  it  glides  o’er  town  and  plain. 


IVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


71 


Beating  against  the  windows, 

The  sleet  falls  heavy  and  chill, 

And  the  children  draw  nigher  ’round  hearth  and  fire, 

As  the  blast  shrieks  loud  and  shrill. 

Silent  is  all  without. 

Save  the  sentry’s  challenge  grim. 

And  a hush  sinks  down  o’er  the  weary  town. 
And  the  sleeper’s  eyes  are  dim. 

Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ? 

Hark  I from  the  old  church-tower 
Rings  loud  and  clear  on  the  misty  air, 

The  chime  of  the  midnight  hour. 

But  another  sound  breaks  in, 

A summons  deep  and  rude, 

The  roll  of  the  drum,  and  the  rush  and  hum 
Of  a gathering  multitude. 

And  the  dim  and  flickering  torch 
Sheds  a red  and  lurid  glare. 

O’er  the  long  dark  line,  whose  bayonets  shine 
Faintly,  yet  sternly  there. 

A low,  deep  voice  is  heard  : 

Rest  on  your  arms,  my  men.” 

Then  the  muskets  clank  through  each  serried  rank, 
And  all  is  still  again. 

Pale  faces  and  tearful  eyes 

Gaze  down  on  that  grim  array, 

For  a rumor  hath  spread  that  that  column  dread 
Marcheth  ere  break  of  day. 


72 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Marcheth  against  the  rebels/^ 

Whose  camp  lies  heavy  and  still, 

Where  the  driving  sleet  and  cold  rain  beat 
On  the  brow  of  a distant  hill. 

And  the  mother’s  heart  grows  faint, 

As  she  thinks  of  her  darling  one, 

Who  perchance  may  lie  ’neath  that  wintry  sky, 
Ere  the  long,  dark  night  be  done. 

Pallid  and  haggard,  too. 

Is  the  cheek  of  the  fair  young  wife  ; 

And  her  eyes  grow  dim  as  she  thinks  of  him 
She  loveth  more  than  life. 

For  fathers,  husbands,  sons. 

Are  the  ‘‘  rebels  ’’the  foe  would  smite. 

And  earnest  the  prayer  for  those  lives  so  dear. 
And  a bleeding  country’s  right. 

And  where  their  treasure  is. 

There  is  each  loving  heart ; 

And  sadly  they  gaze  by  the  torches’  blaze, 

And  the  tears  unbidden  start. 

Is  there  none  to  warn  the  camp, 

None  from  that  anxious  throng  ? 

Ah,  the  rain  beats  down  o’er  plain  and  town — 
The  way  is  dark  and  long. 

No  man  is  left  behind, 

None  that  is  brave  and  true. 

And  the  bayonets,  bright  in  the  lurid  light 
With  menace  stern  shine  through. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


73 


Guarded  is  every  street, 

Brutal  the  hireling  foe ; 

Is  there  one  heart  here  will  boldly  dare 
So  brave  a deed  to  do  ? 

Look  I in  her  still,  dark  room, 

Alone  a woman  kneels, 

With  Care’s  deep  trace  on  her  pale,  worn  face. 
And  Sorrow’s  ruthless  seals. 

Wrinkling  her  placid  brow, 

A matron,  she,  and  fair. 

Though  wan  her  cheek,  and  the  silver  streak 
Gemming  her  glossy  hair. 

A moment  in  silent  prayer 

Her  pale  lips  move,  and  then. 

Through  the  dreary  night,  like  an  angel  bright. 
On  her  mission  of  love  to  men. 

She  glideth  upon  her  way, 

Through  the  lonely,  misty  street. 

Shrinking  with  dread  as  she  hears  the  tread 
Of  the  watchman  on  his  beat. 

Onward,  aye,  onward  still. 

Far  past  the  weary  town. 

Till  languor  doth  seize  on  her  feeble  knees, 

And  the  heavy  hands  hang  down. 

But  bravely  she  struggles  on, 

Breasting  the  cold,  dank  rain, 

And,  heavy  and  chill,  the  mist  from  the  hill 
Sweeps  down  upon  the  plain. 


74 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Hark  I far  behind  she  hears  • 

A dull  and  muffled  tramp, 

But  before  her  the  gleam  of  the  watch-fire^s  beam 
Shines  out  from  the  Southern  camp. 

She  hears  the  sentry^s  challenge, 

Her  work  of  love  is  done  ; 

She  has  fought  a good  fight,  and  on  Famous  proud  height 
Hath  a crown  of  glory  won. 

Oh,  they  tell  of  a Tyrol  maiden. 

Who  saved  from  a ruthless  foe 
Her  own  fair  town,  hnid  its  mountains  brown. 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

And  I’ve  read  in  tales  heroic 
How  a noble  Scottish  maid 
Her  own  life  gave,  her  king  to  save 
From  the  foul  assassin’s  blade. 

But  if  these,  on  the  rolls  of  honor, 

Shall  live  in  lasting  fame. 

Oh,  close  beside,  in  grateful  pride. 

We’ll  write  this  matron’s  name. 

And  when  our  fair-haired  children 
Shall  cluster  round  our  knee, 

With  wondering  gaze,  as  we  tell  of  the  days 
When  we  swore  that  we  would  be  free. 

We’ll  tell  them  the  thrillling  story. 

And  we’ll  say  to  each  childish  heart,  ’ 

“By  this  gallant  deed,  at  thy  country’s  need, 

Be  ready  to  do  thy  part.” 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


75 


MANASSAS. 

By  Catherine  M.  Warfield. 

One  of  the  most  distinguished  men  in  our  county  in  Virginia  was  the 
Honorable  James  Barbour,  a prominent  lawyer  and  Member  of  Congress. 
Before  ever  the  first  gun  was  fired  in  our  State,  I heard  him  say  in  a brief 
speech:  “You  men  who  want  to  fight,  go  to  Manassas,  for  there  the 
armies  will  meet,  and  there  the  struggle  will  begin.”  It  was  a true 
prophecy,  for  the  thundering  guns  of  Manassas  were  heard  soon  after  all 
around  the  world. 

^^J^HEY  have  met  at  last — as  storm-clouds  meet  in  heaven  ; 

And  the  Northmen,  back  and  bleeding,  have  been  driven ; 
And  their  thunders  have  been  stilled. 

And  their  leaders  crushed  or  killed. 

And  their  ranks,  with  terror  thrilled,  rent  and  riven  I 


Like  the  leaves  of  Vallambrosa  they  are  lying ; 

In  the  moonlight,  in  the  midnight,  dead  and  dying ; 
Like  those  leaves  before  the  gale, 

Swept  their  legions,  wild  and  pale  : 

While  the  host  that  made  them  quail  stood,  defying. 


When  aloft  in  morning  sunlight  flags  were  flaunted, 
And  swift  vengeance  on  the  rebel  ’’  proudly  vaunted 
Little  did  they  think  that  night 
Should  close  upon  their  shameful  flight. 

And  rebels,  victors  in  the  fight,  stand  undaunted. 

But  peace  to  those  who  perished  in  our  passes  I 
Light  be  the  earth  above  them  I green  the  grasses ! 
Long  shall  Northmen  rue  the  day. 

When  they  met  our  stern  array, 

And  shrunk  from  battle’s  wild  affray  at  Manassas  I 


76 


IVAI^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


CHARLESTON. 

By  Paul  H.  Hayne. 

"^^That  ! still  does  the  Mother  of  Treason  uprear 

Her  crest  ’gainst  the  Furies  that  darken  her  sea? 

Unquelled  by  mistrust,  and  unblanched  by  a Fear, 

Unbowed  her  proud  head,  and  unbending  her  knee, 
Calm,  steadfast,  and  free? 

Aye ! launch  your  red  lightnings,  blaspheme  in  your  wrath, 
Shock  earth,  wave,  and  heaven  with  the  blasts  of  your  ire ; — 

But  she  seizes  your  death-bolts,  yet  hot  from  their  path. 

And  hurls  back  your  lightnings,  and  mocks  at  the  fire 
Of  your  fruitless  desire. 

Ringed  round  by  her  Brave,  a fierce  circlet  of  flame. 

Flashes  up  from  the  sword-points  that  cover  her  breast 

She  is  guarded  by  Love,  and  enhaloed  by  Fame, 

And  never,  we  swear,  shall  your  footsteps  be  pressed 
Where  her  dead  heroes  rest  I 

Her  voice  shook  the  Tyrant — sublime  from  her  tongue 
Fell  the  accents  of  warning, — a Prophetess  grand, — 

On  her  soil  the  first  life-notes  of  Liberty  rung. 

And  the  first  stalwart  blow  of  her  gauntleted  hand 
Broke  the  sleep  of  her  land  I 

What  more  I she  hath  grasped  with  her  iron-Found  will 
The  Fate  that  would  trample  her  honor  to  earth, — 

The  light  in  those  deep  eyes  is  luminous  still 

With  the  warmth  of  her  valor,  the  glow  of  her  worth. 
Which  illumine  the  Earth  I 


FIRST  BATTLE  OF  BULL  RUN,  1861 

On  July  21,  i86i,  occurred  the  first  great  battle  of  the  W^.  resulting  in  the  •' 
complete  defeat  of  the  Union  army,  which  fled  in  pame  from  the  field. 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


77 


And  beside  her  a Knight  the  great  Bayard  had  loved, 

Without  fear  or  reproach/’  lifts  her  Banner  on  high : 
He  stands  in  the  vanguard,  majestic  unmoved, 

And  a thousand  firm  souls,  when  that  Chieftain  is  nigh 
Vow,  *^’tis  easy  to  die  !” 


Their  swords  have  gone  forth  on  the  fetterless  air ! 

The  world’s  breath  is  hushed  at  the  conflict  I before 
Gleams  the  bright  form  of  Freedom  with  wreaths  in  her  hair— 
And  what  though  the  chaplet  be  crimsoned  with  gore, 
We  shall  prize  her  the  more  I 

And  while  Freedom  lures  on  with  her  passionate  eyes 
To  the  height  of  her  promise,  the  voices  of  yore, 

From  the  storied  Profound  of  past  ages  arise. 

And  the  pomps  of  their  magical  music  outpour 
O’er  the  war-beaten  shore. 


Then  gird  your  brave  Empress,  O 1 Heroes,  with  flame 

Flashed  up  from  the  sword-points  that  cover  her  breast. 
She  is  guarded  by  Love,  and  eiihaloed  by  Fame, 

And  never,  base  Foe  I shall  your  footsteps  be  pressed 
Where  her  dead  Martyrs  rest  1 


78 


IFAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  LONE  SENTRY 
By  James  R.  Randall. 

Previous  to  the  first  battle  of  Manassas,  when  the  troops  under  Stone- 
wall Jackson  had  made  a forced  march,  on  halting  at  night,  they  fell  on  the 
i>:round,  exhausted  and  faint.  The  hour  arrived  for  setting  the  watch  for 
the  night.  The  officer  of  the  day  went  to  the  general’s  tent,  and  said: 

“ General,  the  men  are  all  wearied,  and  there  is  not  one  but  is  asleep. 
Shall  1 wake  them  ? 

*‘No/'  said  the  noble  Jackson;  let  them  sleep,  and  I will  watch  the 
camp  to-night,!’' 

And  all  night  long  he  rode  round  that  lonely  camp,  the  one  lone  sen- 
tinel for  that  brave,  but  weary  and  silent  body  of  Virginia  heroes.  And 
when  glorious  morning  broke,  the  soldiers  awoke  fresh  and  ready  for 
action,  all  unconscious  of  the  noble  vigils  kept  over  their  slumbers. 

’^T^was  in  the  dying  of  the  day, 

The  darkness  grew  so  still ; 

The  drowsy  pipe  of  evening  birds 
Was  hushed  upon  the  hill ; 

Athwart  the  shadows  of  the  vale 
Slumbered  the  men  of  might, 

And  one  lone  sentry  paced  his  rounds, 

To  watch  the  camp  that  night. 

A grave  and  solemn  man  was  he. 

With  deep  and  sombre  brow ; 

The  dreamful  eyes  seemed  hoarding  up 
Some  unaccomplished  vow. 

The  wistful  glance  peered  o’er  the  plains 
Beneath  the  starry  light, 

And  .with  the  murmured  name  of  God, 

He  watched  the  camp  that  night. 

The  Future  opened  unto  him 
Its  grand  and  awful  scroll : 

Manassas  and  the^  Valley  march 
Came  heaving  o’er  his  soul ; 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


79 


Richmond  and  Sharpsburg  thundered  by 
With  that  tremendous  fight 
Which  gave  him  to  the  angel  hosts 

Who  watched  the  camp  that  night. 

We  mourn  for  him  who  died  for  us 
With  one  resistless  moan ; 

While  up  the  Valley  of  the  Lord 
He  marches  to  the  Throne  ! 

He  kept  the  faith  of  men  and  saints 
Sublime,  and  pure,  and  bright — 

He  sleeps — and  all  is  well  with  him 

Who  watched  the  camp  that  night. 

Brothers  I the  Midnight  of  the  Cause 
Is  shrouded  in  our  fate  ; 

The  demon  Goths  pollute  our  halls 
With  fire,  and  lust,  and  hate. 

Be  strong — be  valiant — be  assured — • 

Strike  home  for  Heaven  and  Right  I 
The  soul  of  Jackson  stalks  abroad^ 

And  guards  the  camp  to-night. 


THE  SWORD  OF  ROBERT  LEE. 
By  Father  Ryan. 

JpORTH  from  its  scabbard,  pure  and  bright- 
Flashed  the  sword  of  Lee  ! 

Far  in  the  front  of  the  deadly  fight. 

High  o’er  the  brave,  in  the  cause  of  right, 
Its  stainlees  sheen,  like  a beacon-light, 

Led  us  to  victory. 


80 


WAJ?  SONGS^OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Out  of  its  scabbard,  where  full  long— 

It  slumbered  peacefully — 

Roused  from  its  rest  by  the  battle-song, 

Shielding  the  feeble,  smiting  the  strong, 

Guarding  the  right,  and  avenging  the  wrong— 

Gleamed  that  sword  of  Lee  1 

Forth  from  its  scabbard,  high  in  air, 
Beneath  Virginia’s  sky — . 

And  they  who  saw  it  gleaming  there, 

And  knew  who  bore  it.  knelt  to  swear. 
That  where  the  sword  led  they  would  dare 
To  follow  and  to  die. 

Out  of  its  scabbard  ! Never  hand 
Waved  sword  from  stain  as  free, 

Nor  purer  sword  led  braver  band. 

Nor  braver  bled  for  a brighter  land. 

Nor  brighter  land  had  a cause  as  grand. 

Nor  cause,  a chief  like  Lee  ! 

Forth  from  its  scabbard  ! how  we  prayed 
That  sword  might  victor  be  ! 

And  when  our  triumph  was  delayed. 

And  many  a heart  grew  sore  afraid. 

We  still  hoped  on,  while  gleamed  the  blade 
Of  noble  Robert  Lee  ! 

Forth  from  its  scabbard  I all  in  vain  I 
Forth  flashed  the  sword  of  Lee  ! 

Tis  shrouded  now  in  its  sheath  again, 

It  sleeps  the  sleep  of  our  noble  slain. 

Defeated,  yet  without  a stain. 

Proudly  and  peacefullj. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


81 


A PRAYER  FOR  PEACE. 

By  S.  Teacle  Wallis,  of  Maryland. 

One  of  the  most  distinguished  lawyers  and  citizens  of  Baltimore,  Mary- 
land, was  the  Honorable  S.  Teacle  Wallis.  His  “ Prayer  for  Peace will 
be  read  with  deep  interest  by  all.  There  were  many  other  prayers  for  peace, 
and  though  it  may  provoke  a smile,  I mil  tell  you  of  one  w^hich  occurred 
a little  farther  South  than  Maryland.  It  was  not  long  before  the  close  of 
the  War.  The  old  man  was  a farmer,  loyal  an4  true.  A little  prayer  meet- 
ing of  a small  remnant  of  citizens  was  being  held,  and  one  after  another 
was  praying  for  the  Southern  cause.  Finally,  this  old  man  was  called  upon. 
His  first  sentence,  it  seems  to  me,  covered  the  whole  ground.  He  said,  “ 0 
Lord  ! have  mercy  on  our  Southern  Confederacy,  for  her  affairs  are  in  a 
very  bad  shape,  we  do  assure  Thee.” 

'Deace  I Peace  I God  of  our  fathers  grant  us  Peace  ! 

^ Unto  our  cry  of  anguish  and  despair 
Give  ear  and  pity  ! From  the  lonely  homes. 

Where  widowed  beggary  and  orphaned  woe 

Fill  their  poor  urns  with  tears  ; from  trampled  plains, 

Where  the  bright  harvest  Thou  hast  sent  us  rots— 

The  blood  of  them  who  should  have  garnered  it 
Calling  to  Thee — from  fields  of  carnage,  where 
The  foul-beaked  vultures,  sated,  flap  their  wings 
O’er  crowded  corpses,  that  but  yesterday 
Bore  hearts  of  brother,  beating  high  with  love 
And  common  hopes  and  pride,  all  blasted  now — 
Father  of  Mercies  1 not  alone  from  these 
Our  prayer  and  wail  are  lifted.  Not  alone 
Upon  the  battle’s  seared  and  desolate  track  ! 

Nor  with  the  sword  and  flame,  is  it,  O God, 

That  thou  hast  smitten  us.  Around  our  hearths, 

And  in  the  crowded  streets  and  busy  marts, 

Where  echo  whispers  not  the  far-off  strife 
That  slays  our  loved  ones  ; in  the  solemn  halls 
Of  safe  and  quiet  counsel — nay,  beneath 
The  temple-roofs  that  we  have  reared  to  Thee, 

And  ’mid  their  rising  incense — God  of  Peace  ! 


6 


82 


IV A SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  curse  of  war  is  on  us.  Greed  and  hate 
Hungering  for  gold  and  blood  ; Ambition,  bred 
Of  passionate  vanity  and  sordid  lusts, 

Mad  with  the  base  desire  of  tyrannous  sway 
Over  men’s  souls  and  thoughts,  have  set  their  price 
On  human  hecatombs,  and  sell  and  buy 
Their  sons  and  brothers  for  the  shambles.  Priests, 
With  white,  anointed,  supplicating  hands, 

From  Sabbath  unto  Sabbath  clasped  to  Thee, 

Burn  in  their  tingling  pulses,  to  fling  down 
Thy  censers  and  Thy  cross,  to  clutch  the  throats 
Of  kinsmen,  by  whose  cradles  they  were  born. 

Or  grasp  the  hand  of  Herod,  and  go  forth 
Till  Eachel  hath  no  children  left  to  slay. 

The  very  name  of  Jesus,  writ  upon 

Thy  shrines  beneath  the  spotless,  outstretched  wings 

Of  Thine  Almighty  Dove,  is  wrapt  and  hid 

With  bloody  battle-flags,  and  from  the  spires 

That  rise  above  them  angry  banners  flout 

The  skies  to  which  they  point,  amid  the  clang 

Of  rolling  war-songs  tuned  to  mock  Thy  praise. 

All  things  once  prized  and  honored  are  forgot ; 

The  freedom  that  we  worshipped  next  to  Thee  ; 

The  manhood  that  was  freedom’s  spear  and  shield  ; 
The  proud,  true  heart ; the  brave,. outspoken  word, 
Which  might  be  stifled,  but  could  never  wear 
The  guise,  whate’er  the  profit,  of  a lie  ; 

All  these  are  gone,  and  in  their  stead  have  come 
The  vices  of  the  miser  and  the  slave — 

Scorning  no  shame  that  bringeth  gold  or  power. 
Knowing  no  love,  or  faith,  or  reverence. 

Or  sympathy,  or  tie,  or  aim,  or  hope, 

Save  as  begun  in  self,  and  ending  there. 

With  vipers  like  to  these,  oh  I blessed  God  I 
Scourge  us  no  longer  I Send  us  down,  once  more. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


83 


Some  shining  seraph  in  Thy  glory  clad, 

To  wake  the  midnight  of  our  sorrowing 
With  tidings  of  good-will  and  peace  to  men ; 

And  if  that  star,  that  through  the  darkness  led 
Earth’s  wisdom  the  guide,  not  our  folly  now, 

Oh,  be  the  lightning  Thine  Evangelist, 

With  all  its  fiery,  forked  tongues,  to  speak 
The  unanswerable  message  of  Thy  will. 

Peace  ! Peace  1 God  of  our  fathers,  grant  us  peace  ! 
Peace  to  our  hearts,  and  at  Thine  altars  ; peace 
On  the  red  waters  and  their  blighted  shores  ; 

Peace  for  the  ’leaguered  cities,  and  the  hosts 
That  watch  and  bleed  around  them  and  within, 
Peace  for  the  homeless  and  the  fatherless  ; 

Peace  for  the  captive  on  his  weary  way. 

And  the  mad  crowds  who  jeer  his  helplessness  ; 
For  them  that  suffer,  them  that  do  the  wrong 
Sinning  and  sinned  against.  O God  ! for  all ; 

For  a distracted,  torn,  and  bleeding  land — 

Speed  the  glad  tidings  1 Give  us,  give  us  Peace  I 


“THE  SOUTHERN  CROSS.” 

By  St.  George  Tucker,  of  Virginia. 

I say  can  you  see,  through  the  gloom  and  the  storm, 
More  bright  for  the  darkness,  that  pure  constellation! 
Like  the  symbol  of  love  and  redemption  its  form, 

As  it  points  to  the  haven  of  hope  for  the  nation. 

Now  radiant  each  star,  as  the  beacon  afar. 

Giving  promise  of  peace,  or  assurance  in  war, 

’Tis  the  Cross  of  the  South,  which  shall  ever  remain 
To  tight  us  to  freedom  and  glory  again  ! 


84 


IVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


How  peaceful  and  blest  was  America’s  soil, 

’Till  betrayed  by  the  guile  of  the  Puritan  demon, 
Which  lurks  under  virtue,  and  springs  from  its  coil 
To  fasten  its  fangs  in  the  life-blood  of  freemen. 

Then  boldly  appeal  to  each  heart  that  can  feel, 

And  crush  the  foul  viper  ’neath  Liberty’s  heel  I 
And  the  Cross  of  the  South  shall  in  triumph  remain, 
To  light  us  to  freedom  and  glory  again  I 

’Tis  the  emblem  of  peace,  ’tis  the  day-star  of  hope. 

Like  the  sacred  Labarum  that  guided  the  Roman  ; 
From  the  ‘^^hores  of  the  Gulf  to  the  Delaware’s  slope, 
’Tis  the  trust  of  the  free,  and  the  terror  of  foemen. 
Fling  its  folds  to  the  air,  while  we  boldly  declare 
The  rights  we  demand  or  the  deeds  that  we  dare  I 
While  the  Cross  of  the  South  shall  in  triumph  remain, 
To  light  us  to  freedom  and  glory  again  ! 

And  if  peace  should  be  hopeless  and  justice  denied, 
And  war’s  bloody  vulture  should  flap  its  black  pinions, 
Then  gladly  to  arms,”  while  we  hurl,  in  our  pride, 
Defiance  to  tyrants  and  death  to  their  minions  1 
With  our  front  in  the  field,  swearing  never  to  yield, 

On  return,  like  the  Spartan,  in  death  on  our  shield  I 
And  the  Cross  of  the  South  shall  triumphantly  wave, 
As  the  flag  of  the  free,  or  the  pall  of  the  brave  I 


GENERAL  LEE’S  INVASION  OF  THE  NORTH 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


85 


‘‘THE  BALTIMORE  GRAYS.’’ 

It  is  a well-known  fact  that  some  of  the  first  blood  that  was  shed  dur- 
ing the  war  was  upon  the  streets  of  Baltimore  when  the  Sixth  Massachu- 
setts Regiment  undertook  to  march  from  one  station  to  another.  Although 
Maryland  remained  in  the  Union,  some  of  her  finest  fighters  were  on  the 
Confederate  side.  But  it  is  a significant  evidence  of  the  splendid  feeling 
later  existing  throughout  the  country,  that  early  in  the  days  of  the  Spanish- 
American  War,  when  the  Sixth  Massachusetts  Regiment  was  again  to  pass 
through  Baltimore,  although  railways  have  been  constructed  now  through 
the  State  and  city,  and  it  was  not  necessary  for  them  to  walk, 'the  city, 
through  its  Mayor,  requested  the  Commanding  General  of  the  United 
States  Armies  to  permit  the  Sixth  Massachusetts  Regiment  to  leave  the  train 
at  one  station  in  that  city,  and  march  through  the  streets  to  another 
station,  so  that  Baltimore  might  show  her  true  loyalty  to  the  United  States, 
and  her  hospitality  to  its  soldiers.  I was  on  the  street  side  when  the  regi- 
ment passed  along  through  a living  wall  of  enthusiastic  citizens  on  each 
side.  We  threw  them  flowers,  we  deafened  them  with  cheers,  we  filled  their 
stomachs  full,  and  sent  them  on  their  way  rejoicing.  “ Hurrah  for  America !” 
rang  from  ten  thousand  throats. 

A H,  well  I remember  that  long  summer’s  day 

When,  round  about  Richmond  our  broken  ranks  lay. 
Week  in  and  week  out  they  had  been  at  the  front, 

And  bore  without  flinching  the  battle’s  tierce  brunt. 

Till,  shattered  and  weary,  we  needed  repose 
Ere  we  met  in  death-struggle  our  numberless  foes. 

Our  knapsacks  were  empty,  our  uniforms  worn. 

Our  feet,  from  long  marching,  were  naked  and  torn ; 

But  not  a man  grumbled  in  the  rank  or  the  file. 

We  bore  all  our  hardships  with  a joke  and  a smile, 

For  Jackson  was  with  us,  and  under  his  eye, 

Each  soldier  determined  to  do  or  to  die. 

That  evening  old  Jack  had  us  out  on  review, 

When  a glance  down  the  line  showed  us  all  something  new — 
Eighty-seven  young  boys  from  old  Baltimore, 

Who  had  run  the  blockade  and  that  day  joined  the  corps. 
Their  clothes  were  resplendent,  all  new,  spick  and  span — 
’Twas  plain  that  a tailor  had  measured  each  man. 


86 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


When  we  learned  who  they  were  what  a shout  we  did  raise  ( 
How  we  cheered  our  new  allies,  the  Baltimore  Grays  ! ’’ 
There  were  Lightfoots  and  Carters,  and  Howards  and  Kanes, 
The  grandsons  of  Carroll,  the  nephews  of  Gaines, 

And  in  each  of  the  brave  boys  dressed  up  in  a row. 

You  could  see  the  pure  blood  of  the  proud  Huguenot. 

But  we  were  old  vets  of  Stonewall’s  brigade; 

We’d  been  fighting  so  long  that  war  seemed  a trade ; 

And  some  of  us  laughed  at  the  youngsters  so  gay 
Who  had  come  to  the  battle  as  if  coming  to  play; 

And  all  through  the  camp  you  could  hear  the  rough  wits 
Cry,  “ Hullo,  young  roosters  ! ” and  Dandified  cits ! ” 

But  the  bo3^s  took  it  bravely,  and  heartily  laughed 
At  the  hungry  Confeds  ” by  whom  they  were  chaffed, 

Till  one  ragged  soldier,  more  bold  than  the  rest. 

Fired  off  this  rough  joke,  which  we  all  thought  the  best : 

“ Boys,  you’d  better  go  home  ; ’tis  getting  quite  late.” 

Then  the  girlish-faced  captain  spoke  up  and  said,  “ Wait ! ” 

They  didn’t  wait  long,  for  the  very  next  day 
We  were  ordered  right  off  to  the  thick  of  the  fray ; 

For  early  that  morning  we’d  heard  the  dull  roar 
Of  the  guns  of  our  foeman  on  Bapidan’s  shore. 

And  all  of  us  knew,  with  old  Jack  in  command. 

If  fighting  was  near  him,  he’d  at  once  take  a hand. 

And,  sure  enough,  soon  marching  orders  we  got. 

And  we  swung  down  the  road  in  foot-cavalry  ” trot. 

The  boys  were  behind  us.  I fell  to  the  rear. 

To  see  how  the  youngsters  on  march  would  appear. 

Their  files  were  close  up,  their  marching  was  true, 

I reported  to  Stonewall,  Yes,  General,  they’ll  do.” 

In  a few  minutes  more  the  action  began. 

We  met  the  first  shock,  for  we  were  the  van ; 

But  we  stood  to  our  ranks  like  oaks  of  the  field, 


IVAI?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


87 


For  StonewalFs  brigade  never  knew  how  to  yield. 

Upon  us,  however,  a battery  played, 

And  huge  gaps  in  our  ranks  were  now  and  then  made, 

Till  Jackson  commanded  a charge  up  the  hill. 

We  charged — in  a moment  the  cannon  were  still. 

Jackson  said  to  the  Grays,  Such  valor  you’ve  shown, 

You’ll  veterans  be  ere  your  beards  are  full  grown ; 

In  this,  your  first  action,  you’ve  proved  yourself  bold ; 

I’ll  station  you  here,  these  guns  you  must  hold.” 

Then  the  girlish-faced  captain,  so  straight  and  so  tall, 

Saluted,  and  said,  ^‘You’ll  here  find  us  all. 

For,  wherever  stationed,  this  company  stays.” 

How  we  laughed,  how  we  cheered  the  bold  Baltimore  Grays  ! 
But  the  red  tide  of  battle  around  us  still  flowed. 

And  we  followed  our  leader,  as  onward  he  rode ; 

Cried  Good-by  ” to  the  boys  ; take  care  of  the  guns — 
We’ll  relieve  you  as  soon  as  the  enemy  runs.” 

Ah,  yes,  indeed  1 soon  the  brave  boys  were  relieved, 

But  not  in  the  manner  we  all  had  believed  ; 

Alas,  the  sisters  who  weep  and  the  mothers  who  pine 
For  the  loved  and  the  lost  of  the  Maryland  line  I 

By  some  fatal  blunder  our  left  was  exposed. 

And  by  thousands  of  Federals  the  boys  were  enclosed  ; 

They  asked  for  no  quarter,  their  Maryland  blood 
Never  dreamed  of  surrender,  they  fell  where  they  stood. 

We  heard  in  the  distance  the  firing  and  noise. 

And  double-quicked  back  to  the  help  of  the  boys. 

The  guns  were  soon  ours ; but  oh,  what  a sight ! 

Every  Baltimore  boy  had  been  killed  in  the  fight. 

Save  the  girlish-faced  captain,  and  he  scarce  alive. 

When  he  saw  us  around  him  he  seemed  to  revive, 

And  smiled  when  we  told  him  the  field  had  been  won, 

And  the  Baltimore  Grays  had  saved  every  gun. 


88 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  Stonewall  rode  up  and  endeavored  to  speak, 

But  his  utterance  was  choked,  and  down  his  bronzed  cheek 
The  hot  tears  flowed,  as  he  gazed  on  the  dead, 

“ God  pity  their  mothers  and  sisters  ! ’’  he  said. 

Then,  dismounting,  he  knelt  on  the  blood-sodden  sand 
And  prayed  while  he  held  the  dying  boy’s  hand ; 

The  gallant  young  hero  said,  General,  I knew 
That  the  Grays  to  your  orders  would  always  be  true  ; 

You’ll  miss  not  a Gray  from  our  final  call ; 

Look  around  you,  my  General — you’ll  here  find  us  all.” 

The  blood  gushed  from  his  mouth,  his  head  sunk  on  his  breast. 
And  the  girlish-faced  captain  lay  dead  with  the  rest. 


THE  PHELEMAN’S  FANCY^  SHOT. 

By  Charles  Dawson  Shanley. 
ifleman,  shoot  me  a fancy  shot. 

Straight  at  that  heart  of  yon  prowling  vedette ; 

Ring  me  a ball  on  the  glittering  spot 

That  shines  on  his  breast  like  an  amulet.” 

“ Ah,  captain  ! here  goes  for  a fine-drawn  bead  ; 

There’s  music  around  when  my  barrel’s  in  tune.” 

Crack  ! went  the  rifle  ; the  messenger  sped. 

And  dead  from  his  horse  fell  the  ringing  dragoon. 

“ Now,  rifleman,  steal  through  the  bushes,  and  snatch 
From  yon  victim  somd  trinket  to  handsel  first  blood  : 

A button,  a loop,  or  that  luminous  patch 

That  gleams  in  the  moon  like  a diamond  stud.” 

Oh,  captain  ! I staggered,  and  sank  in  my  track, 

When  I gazed  on  the  face  of  the  fallen  vedette ; 

For  he  looked  so  like  you,  as  he  lay  on  his  back. 

That  my  heart  rose  upon  me,  and  masters  me  yet. 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


89 


But  I snatched  off  the  trinket — this  locket  of  gold  ; 

An  inch  from  the  centre  my  lead  broke  its  way, 
Scarce  grazing  the  picture,  so  fair  to  behold. 

Of  a beautiful  lady  in  bridal  array/^ 

Ha  1 rifleman  1 fling  me  the  locket — ’tis  she  I 

My  brother’s  young  bride  ; and  the  fallen  dragoon 
Was  her  husband.  Hush,  soldier  ! — hwas  heaven’s  decree  ; 
We  must  bury  him  there,  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

“ But  hark  I the  far  bugles  their  warning  unite  ; 

War  is  a virtue,  and  weakness  a sin; 

There’s  a lurking  and  lopping  around  us  to-night : 

Load  again,  rifleman,  keep  your  hand  in  1” 


JOE  JOHNSTON. 

By  John  R.  Thompson. 

/^NCE  more  to  the  breach  for  the  land  of  the  West  I 
And  a leader  we  give  of  our  bravest  and  best. 

Of  his  State  and  his  army  the  pride ; 

Hope  shines  like  the  plume  of  ^Navarre  on  his  crest. 
And  gleams  in  the  glaive  at  his  side. 

For  his  courage  is  keen,  and  his  honor  is  bright 

As  the  trusty  Toledo  he  wears  to  the  fight. 

Newly  wrought  in  the  forges  of  Spain ; 

And  this  weapon,  like  all  he  has  brandished  for  right. 
Will  never  be  dimmed  by  a stain. 

He  leaves  the  loved  soil  of  Virginia  behind, 

Where  the  dust  of  his  fathers  is  fitly  enshrined, 

Where  lie  the  fresh  fields  of  his  fame  ; 

Where  the  murmurous  pines,  as  they  sway  in  the  wind. 
Seem  ever  to  whisper  his  name. 


90 


JVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  Johnstons  have  always  borne  wings  on  their  spurs, 
And  their  motto  a noble  distinction  confers — 

Ever  ready  ! ” for  friend  or  for  foe — 

With  a patriot’s  fervor  the  sentiment  stirs 
The  large,  manly  heart  of  our  Joe. 

We  read  that  a former  bold  chief  of  the  clan, 

Fell,  bravely  defending  the  West,  in  the  van. 

On  Shiloh’s  illustrious  day  ; 

And  with  reason  we  reckon  our  Johnston’s  the  man 
The  dark,  bloody  debt  to  repay. 

There  is  much  to  be  done ; if  not  glory  to  seek, 

There’s  a just  and  a terrible  vengeance  to  wreak 
For  crimes  of  a terrible  dye  ; 

While  the  plaint  pf  the  helpless,  the  wail  of  the  weak. 

In  a chorus  rise  up  to  the  sky. 

For  the  Wolf  of  the  North  we  once  drove  to  his  den. 
That  quailed  wdth  affright  ’neath  the  stern  glance  of  men. 
With  his  pack  has  returned  to  the  spoil ; 

Then  come  from  the  mountain,  the  hamlet,  the  glen. 

And  drive  him  again  from  your  soil. 

Brave-born  Tennesseeans,  so  loyal,  so  true. 

Who  have  hunted  the  beast  in  your  highlands,  of  you 
Our  leader  had  never  a doubt ; 

You  will  troop  by  the  thousand  the  chase  to  renew, 

The  day  that  his  bugles  ring  out. 

But  ye  Hunters,”  so  famed,  of  Kentucky  ” of  yore. 
Where  now  are  the  rifles  that  kept  from  your  door 
The  wolf  and  the  robber  as  well  ? 

Of  a truth,  you  have  never  been  laggard  before 
To  deal  with  a savage  so  fell. 

Has  the  love  you  once  bore  to  your  country  grown  cold  ? 
Has  the  fire  on  the  altar  died  out  ? Do  you  hold 
Your  lives  than  your  freedom  more  dear? 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


91 


Can  you  shamefully  barter  your  birthright  for  gold, 

Or  basely  take  counsel  of  fear  ? 

We  will  not  believe  it ; Kentucky,  the  land 

Of  a Clay,  will  not  tamely  submit  to  the  brand 
That  disgraces  the  dastard,  the  slave  ; 

The  hour  of  redemption  draws  nigh,  is  at  hand, 

Her  own  sons  her  own  honor  shall  save  ! 

Mighty  men  of  Missouri,  come  forth  to  the  call, 

When  the  rush  of  your  rivers,  when  tempests  appal. 

And  the  torrents  their  sources  unseal ; 

And  this  be  the  watchword  of  one  and  of  all — 

“ Remember  the  butcher,  McNeil  I 

Then  once  more  to  the  breach  for  the  land  of  the  West ; 

Strike  home  for  your  hearths — for  the  lips  you  love  best ; 
Follow  on  where  your  leader  you  see; 

One  flash  of  his  sword,  when  the  foe  is  hard  pressed, 
And  the  land  of  the  West  shall  be  free  I 


The  Memorial  Tablet  to  Major-General  Forrest, 
C.  S.  A.,  Erected  on  Forrest  Avenue,  Atlanta,  Qa. 


92 


WAJ^  SONGS  OF  IHE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  DENOMINATIONAL  TEAM. 

By  Moeton  Bryan  Wharton,  D.  D. 

My  brother,  M.  B.  Wharton,  as  I have  already  said,  is  given  to  poetry. 
He  is  a Baptist  preacher,  and  was  such  during  the  war,  but  he  served  his 
country  also,  and  did  double  duty  in  that  service.  I hardly  think  his  own 
patriotism  ever  rose  to  such  a fervent  heat,  as  did  another  minister’s,  who 
was  pastor  of  a church  in  Alabama.  He  was  a man  of  the  back  country, 
but  he  knew  what  loyalty  was,  and  did  not  fail  to  express  his  feelings.  The 
first  soldier  who  was  killed  and  brought  back  home  was  buried  from  the 
church  of  which  this  aged  minister  was  pastor.  There  was  no  building 
large  enough  to  hold  the  crowd  present  on  that  occasion,  so  the  funeral 
services  were  conducted  out  of  doors,  and  the  old  man  stood  on  a box  under 
a tree,  as  he  read  the  hymns,  commented  upon  the  Scriptures,  and  delivered 
his  sermon.  In  concluding  his  earnest  remarks,  he  cried  out,  “ Ah,  my 
brethren,  our  young  friend  has  gone  from  us,  but  we  shall  meet  again,  for 
the  Scriptures  tell  us  that  many  shall  come  from  the  East,  and  many  shall 
come  from  the  West,  and  many  shall  come  from  the  South,”  and  then  paus- 
ing, his  gray  hair  floating  in  the  breeze,  his  cheeks  wet  with  tears,  he  lifted 
both  hands  to  Heaven,  and  closing  his  eyes  said,  in  a low,  hardly  audible 
voice,  and  “ perhaps  a very  few  may  come  from  the  North.” 

^^/^RUSTic  teamster  on  the  street 
Of  a Texas  town  appears, 

He  brings  the  people  to  their  feet, 

They  stand  in  wonderment  complete, 

For  the  names  he  called  his  steers. 

Get  up,  get  up  there,  Methodist ; 

Whoa,  Baptist ! ” loud  he  cries. 

He  gives  his  whip  a lightning  twist, 

Old  Presbyterian’s  barely  missed, 

To  ‘‘  Campbellite  ” it  flies. 

Pray  tell  us  what  your  names  may  mean  ? ” 

Exclaimed  a wag  who  passed  ; 

The  man  replied,  “ Each  steer,  I ween. 

Does  to  some  sect  of  Christians  lean. 

And  so  I’ve  got  them  classed.” 


NEARING  APPOMATTOX 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


93 


Just  look  at  Methodist/’  he  said  ; 

He  goes  at  a rapid  pace, 

He  bellows  till  he  splits  your  head; 

But  once  neglected  to  be  fed 

He’s  sure  to  fall  from  grace. 

“ Episcopalian’s  kind  and  bright, 

But  gay  and  giddy  ever, 

While  the  reverse  is  Campbellite ; 

He’s  always  spoiling  for  a fight. 

And  lies  down  in  the  river. 

There’s  Presbyterian,  strict  new  school, 

Has  hydrophobia  sorter  ; 

He’s  true  and  faithful  as  a rule, 

But  when  he  strikes  a stream  or  pool 
He  leaps  clean  o’er  the  water. 

There’s  Baptist,  good,  but  very  queer. 

On  charity  he’s  off ; 

He’s  willing  and  obedient  e’er. 

But  won’t  permit  another  steer 
To  eat  from  out  his  trough. 

That  big  fat  ox  is  Catholic  ; 

He’s  of  most  ancient  birth  ; 

He’s  up  to  many  a crafty  trick, 

Against  all  other  steers  will  kick, 

And  always  wants  the  earth. 

But  though  these  steers  are  different  quite, 
At  one  great  end  they  aim  ; 

’Tis  true  they  sometimes  skulk  and  fight. 
But  still  they  keep  the  goal  in  sight. 

And  get  there  all  the  same.” 


94 


IVAJe  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


OYER  THE  RIVER. 

By  Jane  T.  Cross. 

hail  your  Stripes  ” and  lessened  stars/’ 

As  one  may  hail  a neighbor  ; 

Now  forward  move  ! no  fear  of  jars, 

AVith  nothing  but  free  labor ; 

And  we  will  mind  our  slaves  and  farm, 

And  never  wish  you  any  harm. 

But  greet  you — over  the  river. 

The  self-same  language  do  we  speak. 
The  same  dear  words  we  utter  ; 
Then  let’s  not  make  each  other  weak. 
Nor  ’gainst  each  other  mutter  ; 

But  let  each  go  his  separate  way. 

And  each  will  doff  his  hat,  and  say  : 

“ I greet  you — over  the  river  I ” 

Our  flags,  almost  the  same,  unfurl, 

And  nod  across  the  border ; 

Ohio’s  waves  between  them  curl — 

Our  stripe’s  a little  broader ; 

May  yours  float  out  on  every  breeze, 

And,  in  our  wake,  traverse  all  seas — 

We  greet  you — over  the  river  ! 

We  part  as  friends  of  years  should  part. 
With  pleasant  words  and  wishes. 
And  no  desire  is  in  our  heart 

For  Lincoln’s  loaves  and  fishes  : 
Farewell,”  we  wave  you  from  afar. 

We  like  you  best — just  where  you  are — 
And  greet  you — over  the  river  ! 


IVAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


95 


KENTUCKY  REQUIRED  TO  YIELD  HER  ARMS. 

Boone. 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  name  of  Boone  stands  here  as  the  author 
of  this  song.  It  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  following  story : Many  years 
ago  there  lived  upon  the  frontier  a man  and  his  family,  struggling  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest  to  make  a living,  and  to  establish  himself  upon  what 
was  then  the  Western  Territory.  Indians  and  wild  animals  were  around 
him  everywhere,  and  when  the  farmer  went  to  the  forests,  he  went  with  axe 
in  one  hand,  and  gun  in  the  other.  One  day  he  heard  the  screams  of  his 
wife,  and  rushing  out  of  the  woods  to  his  little  cabin  he  saw  an  Indian  run- 
ning away  with  his  baby  boy.  He  lifted  his  rifle,  took  the  best  aim  he 
could,  and  fired.  The  Indian  only  turned  and  laughed  at  him,  and  went  on. 
Just  then  he  heard  a voice  behind  him,  saying,  “ A little  too  low;  you 
aimed  too  low.”  And  with  that  he  heard  the  crack  of  a rifle  and  saw  the 
Indian  fall,  as  the  httle  boy,  released  from  his  grasp,  came  running  back  to 
his  father  and  mother.  The  glad-hearted  father  turned  to  the  man  who 
had  killed  the  Indian,  and  said  to  him,  “Tell  me  who  you  are;  give  me 
your  name  that  I may  teach  it  to  my  child,  and  ever  remember  it  with  a 
grateful  heart.”  The  man  smiled,  and,  extending  his  hand,  said,  “ Daniel 
Boone,  with  my  best  wishes,”  and  turned  aw^ay  to  the  forest.  He  had 
aimed  exactly  right,  and  so  did  the  Kentucky  soldiers  during  the  war.  No 
wonder  they  were  called  upon  to  give  up  their  arms. 

JJo  ! will  the  despot  trifle, 

In  dwellings  of  the  free  ; 

Kentuckians  yield  the  rifle, 

Kentuckians  bend  the  knee ! 

With  dastard  fear  of  danger, 

And  trembling  at  the  strife  ; 

Kentucky,  to  the  stranger. 

Yield  liberty  for  life  ! 

Up  I up  ! each  gallant  ranger, 

With  rifle  and  with  knife  I 

The  bastard  and  the  traitor. 

The  wolfcub  and  the  snake. 

The  robber,  swindler,  hater. 

Are  in  your  homes — awake  ! 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Nor  let  the  cunning  foeman 
Despoil  your  liberty ; 

Yield  weapon  up  to  no  man, 

While  ye  can  strike  and  see, 

Awake,  each  gallant  yoeman, 

If  still  ye  would  be  free  I 

Ay,  see  to  sight  the  rifle. 

And  smite  with  spear  and  knife, 

Let  no  base  cunning  stifle 

Each  lesson  of  your  life  : 

How  won  your  gallant  sires 

The  country  which  ye  keep  ? 

By  soul,  which  still  inspires 

The  soil  on  which  ye  weep  ! 

Leap  up  ! their  spirit  fires. 

And  rouse  ye  from  your  sleep  \ 

What ! ’’  cry  the  sires  so  famous. 

In  Orleans’  ancient  field, 

“ Will  ye,  our  children,  shame  us, 

And  to  the  despot  yield  ? 

What ! each  brave  lesson  stifle 
We  left  to  give  you  life  ? 

Let  apish  despots  trifle 

With  home  and  child  and  wife? 

And  yield,  O shame  1 the  rifle. 

And  sheathe,  0 shame ! the  knife  ? ” 


« THERE’S  LIFE  IN  THE  OLD  LAND  YET.” 

blue  Patapsco’s  billowy  dash 
The  tyrant’s  war-shout  comes. 
Along  with  the  cymbal’s  fitful  clash 

And  the  growl  of  his  sullen  drums ; 


WAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


97 


We  hear  it,  we  heed  it,  with  vengeful  thrills, 

And  we  shall  not  forgive  or  forget — 

There’s  faith  in  the  streams,  there’s  hope  in  the  hills. 

There’s  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet ! ” 

Minions  ! we  sleep,  but  we  are  not  dead, 

We  are  crushed,  we  are  scourged,  we  are  scarred — 
We  crouch— ’tis  to  welcome  the  triumph-tread 
Of  the  peerless  Beauregard. 

Then  woe  to  your  vile,  polluting  horde. 

When  the  Southern  braves  are  met ; 

There’s  faith  in  the  victor’s  stainless  sword, 

“ There’s  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet  I ” 

Bigots  ! ye  quell  not  the  valiant  mind 
With  the  clank  of  an  iron  chain  ; 

The  spirit  of  Freedom  sings  in  the  wind 
O’er  Merry  man,  Thomas,  and  Kane  ; 

And  we — though  we  smite  not — are  not  thralls, 

We  are  piling  a gory  debt ; 

While  down  by  McHenry’s  dungeon  walls 
There’s  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet ! ” 

Our  women  have  hung  their  harps  away, 

And  they  scowl  on  your  brutal  bands. 

While  the  nimble  poignard  dares  the  day 
In  their  dear  defiant  hands  ; 

They  will  strip  their  tresses  to  string  our  bows 
Ere  the  Northern  sun  is  set — 

There’s  faith  in  their  unrelenting  woes — 

There’s  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet  I ” 

There’s  life,  though  it  throbbeth  in  silent  veins, 

“ ’Tis  vocal  without  noise  ; 

It  gushed  o’er  Manassas’  solemn  plains 

From  the  blood  of  the  Maryland  boys. 

7 


98 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


That  blood  shall  cry  aloud  and  rise 
With  an  everlasting  threat — 

By  the  death  of  the  brave,  by  the  God  in  the  skies, 
“ There’s  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet ! ” 


THE  BATTLE  OF  RICHMOND. 

By  George  Herbert  Sass,  Charleston,  South  Carolina. 

ow  blessed  be  the  Lord  of  Hosts  through  all  our  Southern 
land. 

And  blessed  be  His  holy  name,  in  whose  great  might  we 
stand ; 

For  He  who  loves  the  voice  of  prayer  hath  heard  His  people’s 

cry, 

And  with  His  own  almighty  arm  hath  won  the  victory ; 

Oh,  tell  it  out  through  hearth  and  home,  from  blue  Potomac’s 
wave 

To  those  far  waters  of  the  West  which  hide  De  Soto’s  grave. 

Now  let  there  be  through  all  the  land  one  grand  triumphant 
cry, 

Wherever  beats  a Southern  heart,  or  glows  a Southern  sky  ; 

For  He  who  ruleth  every  fight  hath  been  with  us  to-day. 

And  the  great  God  of  battles  hath  led  the  glorious  fray ; 

Oh,  then  unto  His  holy  name  ring  out  the  joyful  song. 

The  race  hath  not  been  to  the  swift,  the  battle  to  the  strong. 

* * * * * 

From  royal  Hudson’s  cliff-crowned  banks,  from  proud  Ohio’s 
flood. 

From  that  dark  rock  in  Plymouth’s  bay  where  erst  the 
Pilgrims  stood. 

From  East  and  North,  from  far  and  near,  went  forth  the 
gathering  cry, 


IVA/?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


99 


And  the  countless  hordes  came  swarming  on  with  fierce  and 
lustful  eye. 

In  the  great  name  of  Liberty  each  thirsty  sword  is  drawn ; 

In  the  great  name  of  Liberty  each  tyrant  presseth  on. 

Alas,  alas  I her  sacred  name  is  all  dishonored  now, 

And  blood-stained  hands  are  tearing  off  each  laurel  from  her 
brow , 

But  ever  yet  rings  out  the  cry,  in  loud  and  mocking  tone, 
Still  in  her  holy  shrine  they  strive  to  rear  a despot’s  throne ; 
And  pressing  on  with  eager  tread,  they  sweep  across  the  land, 
To  burn,  and  havoc,  and  destroy — a fierce  and  ruthless  band. 

I looked  on  fair  Potomac’s  shore,  and  at  my  feet  the  while 
The  sparkling  waves  leaped  gayly  up  to  meet  glad  summer’s 
smile ; 

And  pennons  gay  were  floating  there,  and  banners  fair  to  see, 
A mighty  host  arrayed,  I ween,  in  war’s  proud  panoply  ; 

And  as  I gazed  a cry  arose,  a low,  deep-swelling  hum. 

And  loud  and  stern  along  the  line  broke  in  the  sullen  drum. 

Onward,  o’er  fair  Virginia’s  fields,  through  ranks  of  nodding 
grain, 

With  shout  and  song  they  sweep  along,  a gay  and  gallant 
train. 

Oh,  ne’er,  I ween,  had  those  broad  plains  beheld  a fairer  sight. 
And  clear  and  glad  those  skies  of  June  shed  forth  their  glorious 
light. 

Onwards,  yea,  ever  onwards,  that  mighty  host  hath  passed. 
And  “ On  to  Richmond  ” is  the  cry  which  echoes  on  the 
blast. 

I looked  again,  the  rising  sun  shines  down  upon  the  moors. 
And  ’neath  his  beams  rise  ramparts  high  and  frowning 
embrasures. 

And  on  each  proud  abattis  yawn,  with  menace  stern  and 
dread, 


100 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Grim-visaged  messengers  of  death ; the  watchful  sentry’s 
tread 

In  measured  cadence  slowly  falls ; all  Nature  seems  at  ease, 
And  over  all  the  Stars  and  Stripes  are  floating  in  the  breeze. 

But  far  away  another  line  is  stretching  dark  and  long, 
Another  flag  is  floating  free  where  armed  legions  throng  ; 
Another  war-cry’s  on  the  air,  as  wakes  the  martial  drum. 

And  onward  still,  in  serried  ranks,  the  Southern  soldiers 
come. 

And  up  to  that  abattis  high  the  charging  columns  tread, 

And  bold  and  free  the  Stars  and  Bars  are  waving  at  their 
head. 

They  are  on  it ! they  are  o’er  it ! who  can  stay  that  living 
flood  ? 

Lo,  ever  swelling,  rolleth  on  the  weltering  tide  of  blood. 

Yet  another  and  another  is  full  boldly  stormed  and  won. 

And  forward  to  the  spoiler’s  camp  the  column  presseth  on. 
Hurrah  I hurrah  ! the  field  is  won  ! we’ve  met  them  man  to 
man. 

And  ever  still  the  Stars  and  Bars  are  riding  in  the  van. 

They  are  flying ! they  are  flying  ! and  close  upon  their  track 
Comes  our  glorious  “Stonewall”  Jackson,  with  ten  thousand 
at  his  back ; 

And  Longstreet,  too,  and  gallant  Hill,  and  Rhodes,  and  brave 
Hugee, 

And  he  whose  name  is  worth  a host,  our  bold,  devoted  Lee  ; 
And  back  to  where  the  lordly  James  his  scornful  billows  rolls. 
The  recreant  foe  is  fleeing  fast — those  men  of  dastard  souls. 

They  are  flying  ! they  are  flying  I horse  and  foot,  and  bold 
dragoon. 

In  one  refluent  mass  are  mingled,  ’neath  the  slowly  waning 
moon ; 


THE  WASHINGTON  MONUMENT  IN  RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA 

From  photograph  made  for  this  work  by  Fdyth  Carter  Beveridge. 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


101 


And  louder  still  the  cry  is  heard,  as  borne  upon  the  blast, 

The  shouts  of  the  pursuing  host  are  rising  full  and  fast ; 

“ On,  on  unto  the  river,  ’tis  our  only  chance  for  life  ! 

We  needs  must  reach  the  gunboats,  or  we  perish  in  the 
strife  1 ’’ 

’Tis  done  ! the  gory  field  is  ours ; we’ve  conquered  in  the 
fight ! 

And  yet  once  more  our  tongues  can  tell  the  triumph  of  the 
right ; 

And  humbled  is  the  haughty  foe,  who  our  destruction  sought. 

For  God’s  right  hand  and  holy  arm  have  great  deliverance 
wrought. 

Oh,  then,  unto  His  holy  name  ring  out  the  joyful  song — 

The  race  has  not  been  to  the  swift,  the  battle  to  the  strong. 


THE  GUERRILLAS  : A SOUTHERN  WAR  SONG. 

Composed  in  the  Yankee  Bastille. 

By  S.  Teacle  Wallis,  of  Maryland. 

Mr.  Wallis  died  in  Baltimore  a few  years  ago*  He  was  an  eminent 
lawyer  and  a valued  citizen. 

“^^^WAKE  ! aud  to  horse,  my  brother  I 

For  the  dawn  is  glimmering  gray  ; 

And  hark  ! in  the  crackling  brushwood 
There  are  feet  that  tread  this  way. 

Who  cometh  ? ” A friend.”  What  tidings?.” 

O God  ! I sicken  to  tell, 

For  the  earth  seems  earth  no  longer, 

And  its  sights  are  sights  of  hell ! 


102 


IVA/?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


From  far-off  conquered  cities 
Comes  a voice  of  stifled  wail, 

And  the  shrieks  and  moans  of  the  houseless 
King  out  like  a dirge  on  the  gale. 

Tve  seen,  from  the  smoking  village, 

Oui  mothers  and  daughters  fly ; 

Tve  seen  where  the  little  children 
Sank  down  in  the  furrows  to  die. 

On  the  banks  of  the  battle-stained  river 
I stood,  as  the  moonlight  shone. 

And  it  glared  on  the  face  of  my  brother. 

As  the  sad  wave  swept  him  on  ! 

Where  my  home  was  glad  are  ashes  ; 

And  horrors  and  shame  had  been  there — 
For  I found,  on  the  fallen  lintel, 

This  tress  of  my  wife’s  torn  hair. 

They  are  turning  the  slaves  upon  us. 

And,  with  more  than  the  fiend’s  worst  art, 

Have  uncovered  the  fire  of  the  savage. 

That  slept  in  his  untaught  heart. 

The  ties  to  our  heart  that  bound  him, 

They  have  rent  with  curses  away. 

And  maddened  him  with  their  madness, 

To  be  almost  as  brutal  as  they. 

“ With  halter,  and  torch,  and  Bible, 

And  hymns  to  the  sound  of  the  drum, 
They  preach  the  gospel  of  Murder, 

And  pray  for  Lust’s  kingdom  to  come. 

To  saddle  1 to  saddle  ! my  brothers  ! 

Look  up  to  the  rising  sun. 

And  ask  the  God  who  shines  there. 

Whether  deeds  like  these  shall  be  done  f 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


103 


Whenever  the  vandal  cometh, 

Press  home  to  his  heart  with  your  steel, 

And  when  at  his  bosom  you  cannot, 

Like  a serpent,  go  strike  at  his  heel. 

Through  thicket  and  wood  go  hunt  him, 

Creep  up  to  his  camp  fireside. 

And  let  ten  of  his  corpses  blacken. 

Where  one  of  our  brothers  hath  died. 

In  his  fainting,  footsore  marches, 

In  his  flight  from  the  stricken  fray. 

In  the  snare  of  the  lonely  ambush. 

The  debts  we  owe  him  pay. 

In  God’s  hand,  alone,  is  vengeance ! 

But  He  strikes  with  the  hands  of  men. 
And  His  blight  would  wither  our  manhood. 
If  we  smite  not  the  smiter  again. 

''  By  the  graves  where  our  fathers  slumbered  ! 

By  the  shrines  where  our  mothers  prayed ! 

By  our  homes,  and  hopes,  and  freedom  1 
Let  every  man  swear  on  his  blade. 

That  he  will  not  sheath  nor  stay  it. 

Till  from  point  to  hilt  it  will  glow. 

With  the  flush  of  almighty  vengeance. 

In  the  blood  of  the  felon  foe,” 

They  swore — and  the  answering  sunlight 
Leapt  red  from  their  lifted  swords, 

And  the  hate  of  their  hearts  made  echo 
To  the  wrath  in  their  burning  words. 
There’s  weeping  in  all  New  England, 

And  by  Schuylkill’s  banks  a knell. 

And  the  widows  there,  and  the  orphans. 
How  the  oath  was  kept  can  tell. 


104 


IV A R SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


OUR  DEAD  HEROES. 

(Introduction  by  Morton  Bryan  Wharton,  D.  D.] 

angels  above  us  hover, 

And  the  breezes  a requiem  sing, 

As  we  meet  this  day  to  cover. 

Our  dead  with  the  flowers  of  Spring. 

They  were  brave,  they  were  true,  devoted. 

They  died  for  their  country's  laws, 

• And  Montgomery  will  e’er  be  noted 
As  the  cradle  of  their  cause. 

The  waves  of  the  Alabama 

Will  no  longer  be  seen  to  roll, 
Ere  the  men  of  that  mighty  drama 
Shall  fade  from  memory’s  scroll. 
The  names  of  Lee  and  Davis 
Shall  gild  the  wing  of  time. 
Their  armies  and  their  navies, 

Be  praised  for  deeds  sublime  ! 

Since  then  long  years  have  vanished. 

Their  forms  have  gone  to  dust^ 

Their  flags  have  all  been  banished. 

Their  swords  have  gone  to  rust. 

But  their  souls  are  up  in  glory. 

And  now  like  angels  gleam ; 

Last  night  their  mystic  story, 

Came  to  me  in  a dream. 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


105 


THE  PHANTOM  HOST. 

By  Rev.  Peronnean  D.  Hay. 

form  was  wrapped  in  the  slumber 
Which  steals  from  the  heart  its  cares, 

For  my  life  was  weary 

With  its  barren  waste  of  years ; 

But  my  soul,  with  rapid  pinions, 

Fled  swift  to  the  light  which  seems 
From  a phantom’s  sun  and  planets 
For  the  dreamer  in  his  dreams. 

I stood  in  a wondrous  woodland. 

Where  the  sunlight  nestled  sweet 
In  the  cups  of  snowy  lilies 

Which  grew  about  my  feet ; 

And  while  the  Gothic  forest  arches 
Stirred  gently  with  the  air 
The  lilies  underneath  them 

Swung  their  censors  pale  in  prayer. 

I stood  amazed  and  wondering. 

And  a grand  memoriam  strain 
Came  sweeping  through  the  forest, 

And  died ; then  rose  again. 

It  swelled  in  solemn  measure. 

Till  my  soul,  with  comfort  blessed, 

Sank  down  among  the  lilies 
With  folded  wings  to  rest. 

Then  to  that  mystic  music 

Through  the  forest’s  twilight  aisle 
Passed  a host  with  muffled  footsteps 
In  martial  rank  and  file; 


106 


IVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  I knew  those  gray-clad  figures, 

Thus  slowly  passing  by, 

Were  the  souls  of  Southern  soldiers 
Who  for  freedom  dared  to  die. 

In  front  rode  Sidney  Johnston, 
With  a brow  no  longer  wrung 
By  the  vile  and  senseless  slanders 
Of  a prurient  rabble  tongue  ; 
And  near  him  mighty  Jackson, 
With  a placid  front,  as  one 
Whose  warfare  was  accomplished, 
Whose  crown  of  glory  won. 

There  Hill,  too,  pure  and  noble. 

Passed  in  the  spirit  train. 

For  he  joined  the  martyred  army 

From  the  South’s  last  battle  plain. 

The  next  in  order  followed 

The  warrior-priest,  great  Polk, 

With  joy  to  meet  his  Master, 

For  he  had  nobly  borne  Ihe  yoke. 

There  Stuart,  the  bold,  the  daring. 
With  matchless  Pelham  rode  ; 
With  earnest,  chastened  faces. 

They  were  looking  up  to  God. 
And  Jenkins,  glorious  Jenkins, 

With  his  patient,  fearless  eyes. 
And  the  brave  devoted  Garnett, 
Journeyed  on  to  Paradise. 


Before  a shadowy  squadron 

Rode  Morgan,  keen  and  strong. 
And  I knew  by  his  tranquil  forehead 
He’d  forgotten  every  wrong. 


IVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


107 


There  peerless  Pegram  marching 

With  a dauntless,  martial  tread, 

And  I breathed  a sigh  for  the  hero, 

The  young,  the  early  dead. 

’Mid  spectral  black-horse  troopers 
Passed  Ashby’s  stalwart  form. 

With  that  proud,  defiant  bearing 

Which  so  spurned  the  battle  storm; 
But  his  glance  was  mild  and  tender. 

For  in  that  Phantom  Host 
He  dwelt  with  lingering  fondness 
On  the  brother  he  had  tost. 

Then  strode  the  brave  Maloney, 

Kind,  genial  adjutant; 

And  next  him  walked  the  truthful, 

The  lion-hearted  Gantt- 
There  to  that  solemn  music 

Passed  a triad  of  the  brave  : 

Lomax,  Phelan,  Alfred  Pinckney- — 

All  had  found  a soldier’s  grave. 

They  were  young  and  gentle  spirits, 

But  they  quaffed  the  bitter  cup. 

For  their  country’s  flag  was  falling. 

And  they  fell  to  lift  it  up. 

And  then  passed  in  countless  thousands 
In  that  mighty  phantom  host 
True  hearts  and  noble  patriots 

Whose  names  on  earth  are  lost. 

There  ‘‘the  missing”  found  their  places — 

Those  who  vanished  from  our  gaze. 

Like  brilliant,  flashing  meteors. 

And  were  lost  in  glory’s  blaze. 


108 


WAR  SONGS  OR  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Yes,  they  passed,  that  noble  army — 
They  passed  to  meet  their  Lord : 
And  a voice  within  me  whispered : 

They  but  march  to  their  reward/’ 


YE  CAVALIERS  OF  DIXIE. 

By  Benj.  F.  Porter,  of  Alabama. 

E Cavaliers  of  Dixie 

That  guard  our  Southern  shores, 
Whose  standards  brave  the  battle-storm 
That  round  the  border  roars ; 

Your  glorious  sabres  draw  again. 

And  charge  the  invading  foe; 

Reap  the  columns  deep 
Where  the  battle  tempests  blow. 

Where  the  iron  hail  in  floods  descends 
And  the  bloody  torrents  flow. 

Ye  Cavaliers  of  Dixie!  • 

Though  dark  the  tempest  lower, 

No  arms  will  wear  a tyrant’s  chains! 

No  dastard  heart  will  cower! 

Bright  o’er  the  cloud  the  sign  will  rise, 

To  lead  to  victory ; 

While  your  swords  reap  his  hordes, 

Where  the  battle-tempests  blow. 

And  the  iron  hail  in  floods  descends, 

And  the  bloody  torrents  flow. 

Ye  Cavaliers  of  Dixie  I 
Though  Vicksburg’s  towers  fall. 

Here  still  are  sacred  rights  to  shield  I 
Your  wives,  your  homes,  your  all  r 


The  inscriptions  lead  : “The  epitaph  of  the  soldier,  who  falls  with  his  conntry,  is  written  in  the  hearts  ot 
those  who  love  the  right,  and  honor  the  brave.”  “In  memory  of  16,000  Confederate  soldiers  from  thirteen 
States,  erected  by  the  lyadies’  Oakwood  Memorial  Association,  organized  May  loth,  1866.’’ 


IV A J?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


109 


With  gleaming  arms  advance  again, 

Drive  the  raging  foe, 

Nor  yield  your  native  field, 

While  the  battle-tempests  blow, 

And  the  iron  hail  in  floods  descends, 

And  the  bloody  torrents  flow. 

Our  country  needs  no  ramparts. 

No  batteries  to  shield! 

Your  bosoms  are  her  bulwarks  strong. 
Breastworks  that  cannot  yield ! 

The  thunders  of  your  battle-blades 
Shall  sweep  the  hated  foe. 

While  their  gore  stains  the  shore, 
Where  the  battle-tempests  blow. 

And  the  iron  hail  in  floods  descends, 
And  the  bloody  torrents  flow. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 
Shall  rise  from  every  grave ! 

Our  country  is  their  field  of  fame. 

They  nobly  died  to  save ! 

Where  Johnson,  Jackson,  Tilghman  fell. 

Your  patriot  hearts  shall  glow  ; 

While  you  reap  columns  deep. 

Through  the  armies  of  the  foe. 

Where  the  battle  storm  is  raging  loud. 

And  the  bloody  torrents  flow. 

The  battle-flag  of  Dixie 
On  crimson  field  shall  flame. 

With  azure  cross,  and  silver  stars. 

To  light  her  sons  to  fame ! 

When  peace  with  olive-branch  returns, 
That  flag’s  white  folds  shall  glow, 

Still  bright  on  every  height, 


110 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Where  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow, 

Where  the  battle  tempests  rage  no  more, 

Nor  bloody  torrents  flow. 

The  battle-flag  of  Dixie 
Shall  long  triumphant  wave, 

Where’er  the  storms  of  battle  roar, 

And  victory  crowns  the  brave  I 
The  Cavaliers  of  Dixie ! 

In  woman’s  songs  shall  glow 
The  fame  of  your  name, 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow, 
When  the  battle  tempests  rage  no  more. 
Nor  the  bloody  torrents  flow. 


NOT  DOUBTFUL  OF  YOUR  FATHERLAND. 

OT  doubtful  of  your  fatherland. 

Or  of  the  God  who  gave  it; 

On,  Southrons  ! ’gainst  the  hireling  band 
That  struggle  to  enslave  it; 

Ring  boldly  out 
Your  battle-shout, 

Charge  flercely  ’gainst  these  felon  hordes : 

One  hour  of  strife 
Is  freedom’s  life, 

And  glory  hangs  upon  your  swords  I 

A thousand  mothers’  matron  eyes, 

Wives,  sisters,  daughters  weeping. 
Watch,  where  your  virgin  banner  flies. 
To  battle  fiercely  sweeping : 

Though  science  fails. 

The  steel  prevails, 


lFAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


111 


When  hands  that  wield,  own  hearts  of  oak  \ 
These,  though  the  wall 
Of  stone  may  fall, 

Grow  stronger  with  each  hostile  stroke. 

The  faith  that  feels  its  cause  as  true, 
The  virtue  to  maintain  it; 

The  soul  to  brave,  the  will  to  do, — 
These  seek  the  fight,  and  gain  it  I 
The  precious  prize 
Before  your  eyes, 

The  all  that  life  conceives  of  charm. 
Home,  freedom,  life. 

Child,  sister,  wife, 

All  rest  upon  your  soul  and  arm! 


And  what  the  foe,  the  felon  race, 

That  seek  your  subjugation? 

The  scum  of  Europe,  her  disgrace, 

The  lepers  of  the  nation. 

And  what  the  spoil 
That  tempts  their  toil, 

The  bait  that  goads  them  on  to  fight  ? 

Lust,  crime,  and  blood, 

Each  fiendish  mood 
That  prompts  and  follows  appetite. 

Shall  such  prevail,  and  shall  you  fail. 
Asserting  cause  so  holy? 

With  souls  of  might,  go,  seek  the  fight, 
And  crush  these  wretches  lowly. 

On,  with  the  cry, 

To  do  or  die, 

As  did,  in  darker  days,  your  sires, 

Nor  stay  the  blow. 

Till  every  foe, 

Down  stricken,  in  your  path,  expires  I 

— Charleston  Mercury, 


112 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


“THE  VOLUNTEER.” 


Jif  > Jj  j J J > J > 


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ij  I > I ji  j,  j 


r 


I 


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m 


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“IMOGEN. 


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J:4 4~  fr  “T  k U I 

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TKTt — ~t— 

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lVAI^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


113 


GRAVE  OF  ALBERT  SIDNEY  JOHNSTON. 

By  J.  B.  Synnott. 

nr^HE  Lone  Star  State  secretes  the  clay 
Of  him  who  led  on  Shiloh’s  field. 

Where  mourning  wives  will  stop  to  pray, 

And  maids  a weeping  tribute  yield. 

In  after  time,  when  spleen  and  strife 

Their  madd’ning  fiame  shall  have  expired. 

The  noble  deeds  that  gemm’d  this  life 
By  Age  and  Youth  will  be  admired. 

As  o’er  the  stream  the  boatmen  rove 
By  Pittsburg  Bend  at  early  Spring, 

They’ll  show  with  moist’ning  eye  the  grave 
Where  havoc  spread  her  sable  wing. 

There,  ’neath  the  budding  foliage  green, 

Ere  Night  evolved  her  dewy  breath, 

While  Vict’ry  smiled  upon  the  scene. 

Our  Chieftan  met  the  blow  of  death. 

Great  men  to  come  will  bless  the  brave ; 

The  soldier,  bronzed  in  War’s  career. 

Shall  weave  a chaplet  o’er  his  grave. 

While  Mem’ry  drops  the  glist’ning  tear. 

Though  envy  wag  her  scorpion  tongue, 

The  march  of  Time  shall  find  his  fame ; 

Where  Bravery’s  loved  and  Glory’s  sung. 

There  children’s  lips  shall  lisp  his  name. 


8 


114 


lVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDEkACY 


IMOGEN. 

* By  General  John  B.  Mag  ruder. 
T\7akeI  dearest,  wake!  ^tis  thy  lover  who  calls,  Imogen, 
^ ^ List  I dearest,  list  I the  dew  gently  falls,  Imogen, 
Arise  to  thy  lattice,  the  moon  is  asleep, 

The  bright  stars  above  us  their  bright  vigils  keep. 

Chorus. 

Then  fear  not,  my  Imogen, 

Thou’rt  dearer  than  life ! 

The  heart  of  the  soldier  is  the  home  of  the  wife,  Imogen, 
The  heart  of  the  soldier  is  the  home  of  the  wife. 

Thy  steed  is  impatient  his  mistress  to  bear,  Imogen, 

Home  to  her  lover,  on  the  prairie  afar,  Imogen, 

Belov’d  as  a maiden,  adored  as  a wife. 

Thou  shalt  be  forever  the  star  of  my  life ! — Choms. 


CLEBURNE.  ' 

By  M.  a.  Jennings,  of  Alabama. 

“ Another  Star  now  Shines  on  High.” 

^^^NOTHER  ray  of  light  hath  fled,  another  Southern  brave 

Hath  fallen  in  his  country’s  cause  and  found  a laureled 
grave — 

Hath  fallen,  but  his  deathless  name  shall  live  when  stars  shall 
set, 

For  noble  Cleburne,  thou  art  one  this  world  will  ne’er  forget. 

’Tis  true,  thy  warm  heart  beats  no  more,  that  on  thy  nohle  head 
Azrael  place  his  icy  hand,  and  thou  art  with  the  dead; 

The  glancing  of  thine  eyes  are  dim ; no  more  will  they  be  bright 
Until  they  ope  in  Paradise,  with  clearer,  heavenlier  light. 


IFAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


115 


No  battle  news  disturbs  thy  rest  upon  the  sun -bright  shore, 
No  clarion  voice  awakens  thee  on  earth  to  wrestle  rnore, 

No  tramping  steed,  no  wary  foe  bids  thee  awake,  arise, 

For  thou  art  in  the  angel  world,  beyond  the  starry  skies. 

Brave  Cleburne,  dream  in  thy  low  bed,  with  pulseless,  deadened 
heart; 

Calm,  calm  and  sweet,  O warrior  rest ! thou  well  hast  borne 
thy  part. 

And  now  a glory  wreath  for  thee  the  angels  singing  twine, 

A glory  wreath,  not  of  the  earth,  but  made  by  hands  divine. 

A long  farewell — we  give  thee  up,  with  all  thy  bright  renown, 
A chieftain  here  on  earth  is  lost,  in  heaven  an  angel  found. 
Above  thy  grave  a wail  is  heard — a nation  mourns  her  dead; 
A nobler  for  the  South  ne’er  died,  a braver  never  bled. 

A last  farewell — how  can  we  speak  the  bitter  word  farewell ! 
The  anguish  of  our  bleeding  hearts  vain  words  may  never  tell. 
Sleep  on,  sleep  on,  to  God  we  give  our  chieftain  in  his  might ; 
And  weeping,  feel  he  lives  on  high,  where  comes  no  sorrow’s 
night. 

— Selma  Despatch  y 1864, 


THE  BATTLE  KA INBOW. 

By  John  R.  Thompson,  of  Virginia. 

The  poem  which  follows  was  written  just  after  the  Seven  Days  of  Battle, 
near  Richmond,  in  1862.  It  was  suggested  by  the  appearance  of  a rainbow 
the  evening  before  the  grand  trial  of  strength  between  the  contending 
armies.  This  rainbow  overspread  the  eastern  sky,  and  exactly  defined  the 
position  of  the  Confederate  army,  as  seen  from  the  Capitol  at  Richmond. 

^^jpHE  warm,  weary  day,  was  departing — the  smile 

Of  the  sunset  gave  token  the  tempest  had  ceased ; 

And  the  lightning  yet  fitfully  gleamed  for  a while 
On  the  cloud  that  sank  sullen  and  dark  in  the  east. 


116 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


There  our  army — awaiting  the  terrible  fight 

Of  the  morrow — lay  hopeful  and  watching,  and  still ; 

Where  their  tents  all  the  region  had  sprinkled  with  white, 
From  river  to  river,  o’er  meadow  and  hill. 

While  above  them  the  fierce  cannonade  of  the  sky 

Blazed  and  burst  from  the  vapors  that  muffled  the  sun, 

Their  “ counterfeit  clamors  ” gave  forth  no  reply  ; 

And  slept  till  the  battle,  the  charge  in  each  gun. 

When,  lo  ! on  the  cloud,  a miraculous  thing ! 

Broke  in  beauty  the  rainbow  our  host  to  enfold ! 

The  centre  o’erspread  by  its  arch,  and  each  wing 
Suffused  with  its  azure  and  crimson  and  gold. 

Blest  omen  of  victory,  symbol  divine 
Of  peace  after  tumult,  repose  after  pain ; 

How  sweet  and  how  glowing  with  promise  the  sign. 

To  eyes  that  should  never  behold  it  again ! 

For  the  fierce  fiame  of  war  on  the  morrow  flashed  out. 

And  its  thunder-peals  filled  all  the  tremulous  air: 

Over  slippery  intrenchment  and  reddened  redoubt. 

Rang  the  wild  cheer  of  triumph,  the  cry  of  despair. 

Then  a long  week  of  glory  and  agony  came — 

Of  mute  supplication,  and  yearning,  and  dread ; 

When  day  unto  day  gave  the  record  of  fame, 

And  night  unto  night  gave  the  list  of  its  dead. 

We  had  triumphed — the  foe  had  fled  back  to  his  ships — 
His  standard  in  rags  and  his  legions  a wreck — 

But  alas  ! the  stark  faces  and  colorless  lips 

Of  our  loved  ones,  gave  triumph’s  rejoicing  a check. 

Not  yet,  oh,  not  yet,  as  a sign  of  release. 

Had  the  Lord  set  in  mercy  His  bow  in  the  cloud ; 

Not  yet  had  the  Comforter  whispered  of  peace 

To  the  hearts  that  around  us  lay  bleeding  and  bowed. 


THE  FATAL  WOUNDING  OF  “STONEWALL”  JACKSON 


lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


117 


But  the  promise  was  given — the  beautiful  arc, 

With  its  brilliant  profusion  of  colors,  that  spanned 
The  sky  on  that  exquisite  eve,  was  the  mark 
Of  the  Infinite  Love  overarching  the  land. 

And  that  Love,  shining  richly  and  full  as  the  day. 

Through  the  tear-drops  that  moisten  each  martyr’s  proud 
pall, 

On  the  gloom  of  the  past  the  bright  bow  shall  display 
Of  Freedom,  Peace,  Victory,  bent  over  all. 


SOUTHERN  WAR  HYMN. 

By  John  A.  Wagener,  of  South  Carolina. 

^^^RiSE  ! arise  ! with  arm  of  might. 

Sons  of  our  sunny  home  ! 

Gird  on  the  sword  for  the  sacred  fight, 

For  the  battle-hour  hath  come! 

Arise  ! for  the  felon  foe  draws  nigh 
In  battle’s  dread  array ; 

To  the  front,  ye  brave  ! let  the  coward  fly, 

’Tis  the  hero  that  bides  the  fray ! 

Strike  hot  and  hard,  my  noble  band. 

With  the  arm  of  fight  and  fire ; 

Strike  fast  for  God  and  Fatherland, 

For  mother,  and  wife,  and  sire. 

Though  thunders  roar  and  lightnings  flash. 
Oh  ! Southrons,  never  fear. 

Ye  shall  turn  the  bolt  with  the  sabre’s  clash. 
And  the  shaft  with  the  steely  spear. 

Bright  blooms  shall  wave  o’er  the  hero’s  grave. 
While  the  craven  finds  no  rest; 

Thrice  cursed  the  traitor,  the  slave,  the  knave, 
While  thrice  is  the  hero  blessed. 


118 


JVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


To  the  front  in  the  fight,  ye  Southrons,  stand. 

Brave  spirits,  with  eagle  eye. 

And  standing  for  God  and  for  Fatherland, 

Ye  will  gallantly  do  or  die. 


THE  TREE,  THE  SERPENT,  AND  THE  STAR. 

By  a.  P.  Gray,  of  South  Carolina. 

JpROM  the  silver  sands  of  a gleaming  shore. 

Where  the  wild  sea- waves  were  breaking, 

A lofty  shoot  from  a twining  root 

Sprang  forth  as  the  dawn  was  waking  ; 

And  the  crest,  though  fed  by  the  sultry  beam, 

(And  the  shaft  by  the  salt  wave  only) 

Spread  green  to  the  breeze  of  the  curling  seas, 

And  rose  like  a column  lonely. 

Then  hail  to  the  tree,  the  Palmetto  tree, 
Ensign  of  the  noble,  the  brave,  and  the  free. 

As  the  sea- winds  rustled  the  bladed  crest. 

And  the  sun  to  the  noon  rose  higher 

A serpent  came,  with  an  eye  of  flame. 

And  coiled  by  the  leafy  pyre ; 

His  ward  he  would  keep  by  the  lonely  tree. 

To  guard  it  with  constant  devotion; 

Oh,  sharp  was  the  fang,  and  the  armed  clang. 

That  pierced  through  the  roar  of  the  ocean, 

And  guarded  the  tree,  the  Palmetto  tree. 
Ensign  of  the  noble,  the  brave,  and  the  free. 

And  the  day  wore  down  to  the  twilight  close. 

The  breeze  died  away  from  the  billow; 

Yet  the  wakeful  clang  of  the  rattles  rang 
Anon  from  the  serpent’s  pillow ; 


JVA/^  SONGS  OF  1 HE  CONFEDERACY 


110 


When  I saw  through  the  night  a gleaming  star 
O’er  the  branching  summit  growing, 

Till  the  foliage  green  and  the  serpent’s  sheen 
In  the  golden  light  were  glowing, 

That  hung  o’er  the  tree,  the  Palmetto  tree, 
Ensign  of  the  noble,  the  brave,  and  the  free. 

By  the  standard  cleave  every  loyal  son, 

When  the  drums’  long  roar  shall  rattle; 

Let  the  folds  stream  high  to  the  victor’s  eye 
Or  sink  in  the  shock  of  the  battle. 

Should  triumph  rest  on  the  red  field  won. 

With  a victor’s  song  let  us  hail  it; 

If  the  battle  fail  and  the  star  grow  pale. 

Yet  never  in  shame  will  we  veil  it. 

But  cherish  the  tree,  the  Palmetto  tree, 
Ensign  of  the  noble,  the  brave,  and  the  free. 


WHAT  THE  VILLAGE  BELL  SAID.” 
By  John  G.  M’Lemorh,  of  South  Carolina.* 

pULL  many  a year  in  the  village  church, 

Above  the  world  have  I made  my  home; 
And  happier  there,  than  if  I had  hung 

High  up  in  the  air  in  a golden  dome; 

For  I have  tolled 
When  the  slow  hearse  rolled 
Its  burden  sad  to  my  door  • 

And  each  echo  that  woke. 

With  the  solemn  stroke. 

Was  a sigh  from  the  h.eart  of  the  poor. 

* Mortally  woiiu<le<l  at  the  Battle  of  Seven  Pines. 


120 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


I know  the  great  bell  of  the  city  spire 
Is  a far  prouder  one  than  such  as  I ; 

And  its  deafening  stroke,  compared  with  mine, 

Is  thunder  compared  with  a sigh: 

But  the  shattering  note 
Of  his  brazen  throat, 

As  it  swells  on  the  Sabbath  air, 

Far  oftener  rings 
For  other  things 

Than  a call  to  the  house  of  prayer. 

Brave  boy,  I tolled  when  your  father  died, 

And  you  wept  while  my  tones  pealed  loud; 

And  more  gently  I rung  when  the  lily-white  dame, 
Your  mother  dear,  lay  in  her  shroud: 

And  I sang  in  sweet  tone 
The  angels  might  own, 

When  your  sister  you  gave  to  your  friend ; 

Oh  ! I rang  with  delight. 

On  that  sweet  summer  night. 

When  they  vowed  they  would  love  to  the  end  1 

But'  a base  foe  comes  from  the  regions  of  crime. 
With  a heart  all  hot  with  the  flames  of  hell ; 

And  the  tones  of  the  bell  you  have  loved  so  long 
No  more  on  the  air  shall  swell : 

For  the  people’s  chief. 

With  his  proud  belief 
That  his  country’s  cause  is  God’s  own, 

Would  change  the  song, 

. The  hills  have  rung, 

To  the  thunder’s  harsher  tone. 

Then  take  me  down  from  the  village  church. 

Where  in  peace  so  long  I have  hung  ; 

But  I charge  you,  by  all  the  loved  and  lost, 
Remember  the  songs  I have  sung. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


121 


Remember  the  mound 
Of  holy  ground, 

Where  your  father  and  mother  lie; 

And  swear  by  the  love 
For  the  dead  above 
To  beat  your  foul  foe  or  die. 

Then  take  me  ; but  when  (I  charge  you  this) 
You  have  come  to  the  bloody  field, 

That  the  bell  of  God,  to  a cannon  grown. 
You  will  ne’er  to  the  foeman  yield. 

By  the  love  of  the  past. 

Be  that  hour  your  last, 

When  the  foe  has  reached  this  trust; 
And  make  him^  a bed 
Of  patriot  dead. 

And  let  him  sleep  in  this  holy  dusto 


SONG  OF  SPRING  (1864). 

By  John  A.  Wagener,  of  South  Carolina. 

^PRING  has  come  ! Spring  has  come ! 

The  brightening  earth,  the  sparkling  dew, 

The  bursting  buds,  the  sky  of  blue. 

The  mocker’s  carol  in  tree  and  hedge, 
Proclaim  anew  Jehovah’s  pledge — 

So  long  as  man  shall  earth  retain, 

The  seasons  gone  shall  come  again.” 

Spring  has  come  I Spring  has  come  I 

We  have  her  here,  in  the  balmy  air, 

In  the  blossoms  that  bourgeon  without  a care , 
The  violet  bounds  from  her  lowly  bed. 

And  the  jasmine  fiaunts  with  a lofty  head; 

All  nature,  in  her  baptismal  dress. 

Is  abroad — to  win,  to  soothe,  and  bless. 


122 


IVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Spring  has  come ! Spring  has  come ! 

Yes,  and  eternal  as  the  Lord, 

Who  spells  her  being  at  a word ; 

All  blest  but  man,  whose  passions  proud 
Wrap  Nature  in  her  bloody  shroud — 
His  heart  is  winter  to  the  core. 

His  spring,  alas!  shall  come  no  more! 


‘‘STONEWALL’’  JACKSON. 

By  H.  L.  Flash. 

j^oT  ’midst  the  lightning  of  the  stormy  fight 
Not  in  the  rush  upon  the  vandal  foe, 

Did  kingly  death,  with  his  resistless  might. 

Lay  the  great  leader  low  ! 

His  warrior  soul  its  earthly  shackles  bore 
In  the  full  sunshine  of  a peaceful  town ; 

When  all  the  storm  was  hushed,  the  trusty  oak 
That  propped  our  cause,  went  down. 

Though  his  alone  the  blood  that  flecks  the  ground, 
Recording  all  his  grand  heroic  deeds. 

Freedom  herself  is  writhing  with  his  wound. 

And  all  the  country  bleeds. 

He  entered  not  the  nation’s  “ Promised  Land,” 

At  the  red  belching  of  the  cannon’s  mouth ; 

But  broke  the  “House  of  Bondage”  with  his  hand — 
The  Moses  of  the  South ! 

Oh,  gracious  God  i not  gainless  is  our  loss ; 

A glorious  sunbeam  gilds  Thy  sternest  frown; 

And  while  his  country  staggers  with  the  cross — 

He  rises  with  the  crown  ! 


IVylJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


123 


STONEWALL  ” JACKSON. 

A DIRGE. 


TO  thy  rest,  great  chieftain  I 
In  the  zenith  of  thy  fame; 

With  the  proud  heart  stilled  and  frozen, 
No  foeman  e’er  could  tame; 

With  the  eye  that  met  the  battle 
' As  the  eagle’s  meets  the  sun, 
Rayless — beneath  its  marble  lid. 

Repose — thou  mighty  one  I 


Yet  ill  our  cause  could  spare  thee; 

And  harsh  the  blow  of  fate 
That  struck  its  staunchest  pillar 
From  ’neath  our  dome  of  State. 

Of  thee,  as  of  the  Douglas, 

We  say  with  Scotland’s  king, 

There  is  not  one  to  take  hh  place 
In  all  the  knightly  ring.” 

Thou  wert  the  noblest  captain 
Of  all  that  martial  host 
That  front  the  haughty  Northman, 

And  put  to  shame  his  boast. 

Thou  wert  the  strongest  bulwark 
To  stay  the  tide  of  tight ; 

The  name  thy  soldiers  gave  thee 
Bore  witness  of  thy  might ! 

But  we  may  not  weep  above  thee ; 

This  is  no  time  for  tears  1 
Thou  wouldst  not  brook  their  shedding. 
Oh ! saint  among  thy  peers  ! 


124 


IV^J?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Couldst  thou  speak  from  yonder  heaven, 
Above  us  smiling  spread, 

Thou  wouldst  not  have  us  pause  for  grief, 

On  the  blood-stained  path  we  tread  ! 

Not — while  our  homes  in  ashes 
Lie  smouldering  on  the  sod  ! 

Not — while  our  houseless  women 
Send  up  wild  wails  to  God  ! 

Not — while  the  mad  fanatic 
Strews  ruin  on  his  track  ! 

Dare  any  Southron  give  the  rein 
To  'feeling,  and  look  back  ; 

No  ! Still  the  cry  is  onward  ! 

This  is  no  time  for  tears ; 

No  ! Still  the  word  is  vengeance!” 

Leave  ruth  for  coming  years. 

We  will  snatch  thy  glorious  banner 

From  thy  dead  and  stiffening  hand, 

And  high,  ’mid  battle’s  deadly  storm. 

We’ll  bear  it  through  the  land. 

And  all  who  mark  it  streaming — 
Oh  ! soldier  of  the  cross  1 — 

Shall  gird  them  with  a fresh  resolve 
Sternly  to  avenge  our  loss  ; 

Whilst  thou,  enrolled  a martyr. 

Thy  sacred  mission  shown, 

Shalt  lay  the  record  of  our  wrongs 
Before  the  Eternal  throne  ! 


THE  SCOUTS 


IVAI?  SOiVGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


125 


‘‘LITTLE  GIFFIN.’^ 

By  Dr.  Francis  0.  Ticknor. 


Mr.  P.  H.  Hayne  sMd  of  this  little  poem  : “A  ballad  of  such  unique 
and  really  transcendent  merit  that,  in  my  judgment,  it  ought  to  rank  with 
the  rarest  gems  of  modern  martial  poetry.” 

It  is  a fact  that  in  all  wars  boys  have  taken  part,  and  often  showed  the 
greatest  endurance  and  bravery.  It  was  so  with  the  boys  of  the  South. 
The  battle  of  New  Market,  one  of  the  hardest  fought  fights  in  the  Valley  of 
Virginia,  was  won  by  a lot  of  boys  from  the  Virginia  Military  Institute. 
People  said  of  them  that  their  behavior  on  the  field  was  so  perfect  that  they 
moved  like  machinery,  nor  did  they  ever  falter  or  waver  in  any  part  of  the 
conflict. 


UT  of  the  focal  and  foremost  fire, 


Out  of  the  hospital  walls  as  dire, 
Smitten  of  grapeshot  and  gangrene 
(Eighteenth  battle,  and  he  sixteen). 

Specter  such  as  we  seldom  see. 

Little  Giffin  of  Tennessee. 

“ Take  him  and  welcome  ! the  surgeon  said  ; 
“ Much  your  doctor  can  help  the  dead  ! ” 

And  so  we  took  him  and  brought  him  where 
The  balm  was  sweet  on  the  summer  air ; 

And  we  laid  him  down  on  a wholesome  bed 
Utter  Lazarus,  heel  to  head  ! 

Weary  War  with  the  bated  breath. 

Skeleton  boy  against  skeleton  Death, 

Months  of  torture,  how  many  such  I 
Weary  weeks  of  the  stick  and  crutch  I 
Still  a glint  of  the  steel-blue  eye 
Spoke  of  the  spirit  that  wouldn’t  die — 

And  didn’t ; nay,  more  ! in  death’s  despite. 
The  crippled  skeleton  learned  to  write  1 
“ Dear  Mother,”  at  first,  of  course,  and  then, 


126 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Dear  Captain,’^  inquiring  about  the  men/’ 
Captain’s  answer  : Of  eight  and  five, 

Giffin  and  I are  left  alive.” 

Johnston’s  pressed  at  the  front,  they  say  ! ” 

Little  Giffin  was  up  and  away  ; 

A tear,  his  first,  as  he  bade  good-bye, 

Dimmed  the  glint  of  his  steel-blue  eye. 

“ I’ll  write,  if  spared.”  There  was  news  of  a fight, 
But  none  of  Giffin  ! he  did  not  write  ! 

I sometimes  fancy  that  were  I king 

Of  the  princely  Knights  of  the  Golden  Ring, 

With  the  song  of  the  minstrel  in  mine  ear, 

And  the  tender  legend  that  trembles  here, 

I’d  give  the  best  on  his  bended  knee. 

The  whitest  soul  of  chivalry. 

For  little  Giffin  of  Tennessee. 


IV A SONGS  ON  I'HE  CONFEDERACY 


127 


BEAUFORT. 

By  W.  J.  Grayson,  of  South  Carolina. 

home  ! what  blessings  late  were  yours  ; 

The  gifts  of  peace,  the  songs  of  joy  ! 

No,  hostile  squadrons  seek  our  shores, 

To  ravage  and  destroy. 

The  Northman  comes  no  longer  there 

With  soft  address  and  measured  phrase, 
With  bated  breath,  and  sainted  air, 

And  simulated  praise. 

He  comes  a vulture  to  his  prey ; 

A wolf  to  raven  in  your  streets  ; 

Around  on  shining  stream  and  bay 
Gather  his  bandit  fleets. 

They  steal  the  pittance  of  the  poor ; 

Pollute  the  precincts  of  the  dead ; 
Despoil  the  widow  of  her  store, — 

The  orphan  of  his  bread. 

Crimes  like  their  crimes — of  lust  and  blood, 

No  Christian  land  has  known  before ; 

Oh,  for  some  scourge  of  fire  and  flood. 

To  sweep  them  from  the  shore  ! 

Exiles  from  home,  your  people  fly, 

In  adverse  fortune’s  hardest  school ; 
With  swelling  breast  and  flashing  eye — 
They  sccrn  the  tyrant’s  rule ! 

Away,  from  all  their  joys  away. 

The  sports  that  active  youth  engage ; 

The. scenes  where  childhood  loves  to  play, 

The  resting-place  of  age. 


128 


lVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Away,  from  fertile  field  and  farm  ; 

The  oak-fringed  island-homes  that  seem 
To  sit  like  swans,  with  matchless  charm, 

On  sea-born  sound  and  stream. 

Away,  from  palm-environed  coast. 

The  beach  that  ocean  beats  in  vain ; 

The  Royal  Port,  your  pride  and  boast, 

The  loud-resounding  main. 

Away,  from  orange  groves  that  glow 
ATith  golden  fruit  or  snowy  flowers, 

Roses  that  never  cease  to  blow, 

Myrtle  and  jasmine  bowers. 

From  these  afar,  the  hoary  head 
Of  feeble  age,  the  timid  maid. 

Mothers  and  nurslings,  all  have  fled. 

Of  ruthless  foes  afraid. 

But  ready,  with  avenging  hand. 

By  wood  and  fen,  in  ambush  lie 
Your  sons,  a stern,  determined  band, 

Intent  to  do  or  die. 

AFhene’er  the  foe  advance  to  dare 

The  onset,  urged  by  hate  and  wrath, 

Still  have  they  found,  aghast  with  fear, 

A Lion  in  the  path. 

Scourged,  to  their  ships  they  wildly  rush. 

Their  shattered  ranks  to  shield  and  save. 

And  learn  how  hard  a task  to  crush 
The  spirit  of  the  brave. 

O,  God  ! Protector  of  the  right. 

The  widows’  stay,  the  orphans’  friend, 

Restrain  the  rage  of  lawless  might, 

The  wronged  and  crushed  defend  ! 


IV A J?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


129 


Be  guide  and  helper,  sword  and  shield  I 

From  hill  and  vale,  where’er  they  roam, 

Bring  back  the  yeoman  to  his  field. 

The  exile  to  his  home  ! 

Pastors  and  scattered  flocks  restore  ; 

Their  fanes  rebuild,  their  altars  raise  ; 
And  let  their  quivering  lips  once  more 
Rejoice  in  songs  of  praise  ! 


OLD  MOULTRIE. 

By  Catherine  Gendron  Poyas,  of  Charleston. 

^T^he  splendor  falls  on  bannered  wails 

Of  ancient  Moultrie,  great  in  story ; 

And  flushes  now  his  scar-seamed  brow. 

With  rays  of  golden  glory  I 

Great  in  his  old  renown. 

Great  in  the  honor  thrown 
Around  him  by  the  foe. 

Had  sworn  to  lay  him  low  I 

The  glory  falls — historic  walls 

Too  weak  to  cover  foes  insulting, 

Become  a tower — a sheltering  bower — 

A theme  of  joy  exulting ; 

God,  merciful  and  great. 
Preserved  the  high  estate 
Of  Moultrie,  by  His  power 
Through  the  fierce  battle-hour  I 

The  splendor  fell — his  banners  swell 

Majestic  forth  to  catch  the  shower; 

Our  own  loved  him  receives  anew 
A rich  immortal  dower  ! 

Adown  the  triple  bars 
Of  its  companion,  spars 
Of  golden  glory  stream  ; 

On  seven-rayed  circlet  beam  I 


9 


130 


lVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  glory  falls — but  not  on  walls 

Of  Sumter  deemed  the  post  of  duty  ; 

A brilliant  sphere,  it  circles  clear 
The  harbor  in  its  beauty  ; 

Holding  in  its  embrace 
The  city’s  queenly  grace  ; 
Stern  battery  and  tower, 

Of  manly  strength  and  power. 

But  brightest  falls  on  Moultrie’s  walls, 
Forever  there  to  rest  in  glory, 

A hallowed  light — on  buttress  height — 

Oh,  fort,  beloved  and  hoary  I 

Rest  there  and  tell  that  faith 
Shall  never  suffer  scaith  ; 

Host  there — and  glow  afar — 
Hope’s  ever-burning  star! 


St.  Paul’s  Church,  Richmond,  Va.,  where  President  Jeffer- 
son Davis  and  General  Lee  had  pews  during  the  war. 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


181 


ONLY  ONE  KILLED. 

•By  Julia  L.  Keyes,  Montgomery,  Alabama. 

^^NLY  one  killed — in  company  B, 

’Twas  a trifling  loss — one  man  I 
A charge  of  the  bold  and  dashing  Lee — 

While  merry  enough  it  was  to  see 
The  enemy,  as  he  ran. 

Only  one  killed  upon  our  side — 

Once  more  to  the  field  they  turn. 

Quietly  now  the  horsemen  ride — 

And  pause  by  the  form  of  the  one  who  died, 

So  bravely,  as  now  we  learn. 

Their  grief  for  the  comrade  loved  and  true 
For  a time  was  unconcealed  ; 

They  saw  the  bullet  had  pierced  him  through, 

That  his  pain  was  brief — ah  ! very  few 
Die  thus,  on  the  battle-field. 

The  news  has  gone  to  his  home,  afar — 

Of  the  short  and  gallant  fight. 

Of  the  noble  deeds  of  the  young  La  Var 
Whose  life  went  out  as  a falling  star 
In  the  skirmish  of  that  night. 

Only  one  killed  I It  was  my  son,^' 

The  widowed  mother  cried. 

She  turned  but  to  clasp  the  sinking  one, 

Who  heard  not  the  words  of  the  victory  won, 

But  of  him  who  had  bravely  died. 

Ah  ! death  to  her  were  a sweet  relief. 

The  bride  of  a single  year. 

Oh  I would  she  might,  with  her  weight  of  grief, 
Lie  down  in  the  dust,  with  the  autumn  leaf 
Now  trodden  and  brown  and  sere  1 


132 


lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  no,  she  must  bear  through  coming  life 
Her  burden  of  silent  woe, 

The  aged  mother  and  youthful  wife 
Must  live  through  a nation’s  bloody  strife, 

Sighing  and  waiting  to  go 

Where  the  loved  are  meeting  beyond  the  stars. 

Are  meeting  no  more  to  part. 

They  can  smile  once  more  through  the  crystal  bars — 
Where  never  more  will  the  woe  of  wars 
O’ershadow  the  loving  heart. 


^^THE  LAND  OF  KING  COTTON.” 

Air — “ Red,  White,  and  Blue.” 

By  J.  Augustine  Signaigo. 

[From  the  Memphis  Appeal^  December  18,  1861.] 

This  was  a favorite  song  of  the  Tennessee  troops,  and  especially  of  the 
Thirteenth  and  One  Hundred  and  Fifty-fourth  Regiments.  There  were  no 
braver  men  than  those  from  Tennessee,  as  I had  occasion  to  know  more  than 
once.  At  the  close  of  the  war,  Ex-Governor  Isham  G.  Harris,  of  Tennessee, 
upon  whose  head  Governor  Brownlow,  of  war  fame,  set  a price,  went  away 
with  General  Price  and  General  Shelby  and  others  to  Mexico.  I was  one  of 
the  party.  We  lived  there  for  a while  under  the  care  of  the  Emperor 
Maximilian,  but  found  our  way  back  to  our  own  land  before  long. 
Governor  Harris  became  a United  States  Senator,  General  Price  occupied 
prominent  positions  in  Missouri,  and  General  Shelby  held  a high  office  under 
the  Government.  Governor  Harris,  the  distinguished  Tennesseean,  was 
fond  of  martial  music,  and  delighted  in  the  old  Southern  songs. 

I Dixie,  dear  land  of  King  Cotton, 

‘‘  The  home  of  the  brave  and  the  free,” 

A nation  by  freedom  begotten. 

The  terror  of  despots  to  be  ; 

Wherever  thy  banner  is  streaming, 

Base  tyranny  quails  at  thy  feet, 

And  liberty’s  sunlight  is  beaming. 

In  splendor  of  majesty  sweet. 


THE  FIRST  CAPITOL  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY,  MONTGOMERY,  ALABAMA 

In  this  building  President  Jefferson  Davis  was  inaugurated  February  i8th,  i86i.  The  Alabama  Convention 
assembled  here  January  7th,  1861,  and  declared  her  independence. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


133 


Chorus  : 

Three  cheers  for  our  army  so  true, 

Three  cheers  for  Price,  Johnston,  and  Lee  ; 
Beauregard  and  our  Davis  forever. 

The  pride  of  the  brave  and  the  free  ! 

When  Liberty  sounds  her  war-rattle. 
Demanding  her  right  and  her  due. 
The  first  land  that  rallies  to  battle 
Is  Dixie,  the  shrine  of  the  true  ; 

Thick  as  leaves  of  the  forest  in  summer, 
Her  brave  sons  will  rise  on  each  plain. 
And  then  strike,  until  each  Vandal  comer 
Lies  dead  on  the  soil  he  would  stain. 

Chorus. — Three  cheers,  etc. 

May  the  names  of  the  dead  that  we  cherish. 

Fill  memory’s  cup  to  the  brim  ; 

May  the  laurels  they’ve  won  never  perish. 

Nor  star  of  their  glory  grow  dim  ; ” 

May  the  States  of  the  South  never  sever. 

But  the  champions  of  freedom  e’er  be  ; 

May  they  flourish  Confederate  forever. 

The  boast  of  the  brave  and  the  free. 

Chorus. — Three  cheers,  etc. 

•’ 


A CHRISTMAS  OF  LONG  AGO. 
By  Morton  Bryan  Wharton,  D.D. 

T AM  thinking  to-night  in  sadness 
Of  a Christmas  of  long  ago. 

When  the  air  was  filled  with  gladness. 
And  the  earth  was  wrapped  in  snow ; 


134 


IVAI?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


When  the  stars  like  diamonds  glistened 
And  the  night  was  crisp  and  cold, 

As  I eagerly  watched  and  listened 
For  the  Santa  Claus  of  old. 

The  forest  was  robbed  of  its  treasures, 

The  house  was  a mass  of  green. 

And  I reveled  in  Christmas  pleasures. 

At  the  dawn  of  Aurora’s  sheen  ; 

Some  talked  of  the  Savior’s  mission. 

But  I of  my  pretty  toys ; 

Some  knelt  in  devout  petition — 

I romped  and  played  with  the  boys. 

We  went  to  the  pond  for  skating, 

To  the  stable  to  take  a ride. 

And  we  found  new  joys  awaiting. 

To  whatever  spot  we  hied  ; 

But  the  climax  of  my  story 

Was  that  evening’s  fireworks  show ! 

Went  out  in  a blaze  of  glory — 

That  Christmas  of  long  ago  1 

But  in  sadness  I think  of  that  Christmas, 

For  many  then  happy  and  gay 
Have  gone  to  the  realm  of  silence 
And  sleep  in  their  beds  of  clay 
The  hands  that  filled  kindly  my  stockings, 

I shall  grasp  in  this  world  no  more, 

But  when  at  Heaven’s  portals  I’m  knocking 
They’ll  open  the  beautiful  door. 

They  will  lead  me  in  tenderness  clinging. 

And  place  me  before  the  throne. 

Where  the  choirs  angelic  are  singing 
And  the  heavenly  gifts  are  strown, 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


135 


And  there  in  the  realm  of  glory, 

With  my  loved  ones  at  my  side, 
I’ll  repeat  the  old  Bethlehem  story 
And  join  in  that  Christmas  tide. 


THE  DEATH  OF  JEFFERSON  DAVIS. 

By  Morton  Bryan  Wharton,  D.  D. 

My  brother,  the  Rev.  Morton  Bryan  Wharton,  D.D.,is  a writer  of 
poetry,and  he  writes  good  poetry.  In  fact,  lie  has  a book  of  poems.  Some 
of  his  selections  are  given  in  these  pages,  and  to  show  the  appreciation  of 
them,  we  publish  elsewhere  a letter  of  thanks  from  Mr.  Davis  upon  the 
receipt  of  one  of  these  poems. 

/^UR  mighty  Chieftain  breathes  no  more. 

His  noble  form,  now  cold  and  still, 

Has  fallen  at  last,  life’s  conflict  o’er. 

Obedient  to  his  Maker’s  will. 

As  die  the  brave  and  true,  he  dies, — 

He  rests  upon  a stainless  shield. 

The  great  Commander  of  the  skies 

Alone  could  call  him  from  the  field. 

His  noble  spirit  dwells  on  high. 

Where  slanders  never  vex  the  soul ; 

And  fitting  ’tis  his  dust  should  lie 

Far,  far  removed  from  prowling  ghoul. 
Among  his  friends  should  be  his  tomb. 

There  on  old  Ocean’s  utmost  verge. 

Where  snow-white  flowers  perennial  bloom 
And  wild  waves  chant  his  funeral  dirge. 

And  he  will  stand  on  History’s  page. 

While  cycling  years  shall  onward  move. 

The  victim  once  of  senseless  rage. 

Now,  idol  of  his  people’s  love. 


136 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


When  hate  is  buried  in  the  dust, 

When  party  strife  shall  break  its  spear, 

When  truth  is  free  and  men  are  just, 

Then  will  his  epitaph  appear. 

The  Parian  quarry  asks  for  time 

In  which  the  marble  to  mature, 
Destined  to  speak  his  fame  sublime. 

Worthy  to  shrine  a heart  so  pure ; 

Till  then  unmarked  we  bid  him  lay, 

With  carping  critics  plead  a truce. 

But  dear  the  spot  which  holds  his  clay 

As  that  which  holds  the  heart  of  Bruce. 


PRO  MEMORIA. 

Air — There  is  rest  for  the  weary. 

By  In  a M.  Porter,  of  Indiana. 

T o ! the  Southland  Queen,  emerging 
^ From  her  sad  and  wintry  gloom. 
Robes  her  torn  and  bleeding  bosom 
In  her  richest  orient  bloom. 

Chorus — (Repeat  first  line  three  times.) 

For  her  weary  sons  are  resting 
By  the  Edenshore; 

They  have  won  the  crown  immortal, 

And  the  cross  of  death  is  o’er  1 
Where  the  Oriflamme  is  burning 
On  the  starlit  Edenshore  ! 

Brightly  still,  in  gorgeous  glory, 

God’s  great  jewel  lights  our  sky; 
Look  ! upon  the  heart’s  white  dial 
There’s  a Shadow  flitting  by  1 
Chorus — But  the  weary  feet  are  resting,  etc. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


1 


Homes  are  dark  and  hearts  are  weary, 

Souls  are  numb  with  hopeless  pain, 

Nor  the  footfall  on  the  threshold 
Never  more  to  sound  again  ! 

Chorus — They  have  gone  from  us  forever, 

Aye,  for  evermore ! 

We  must  win  the  crown  immortal, 
Follow  where  they  led  before. 

Where  the  Oriflamme  is  burning 
On  the  starlit  Edenshore. 

Proudly,  as  our  Southern  forests 

Meet  the  winter’s  shafts  so  keen ; 
Time-defying  memories  cluster 

Round  our  hearts  in  living  green. 

Chorus — They  have  gone  from  us  forever,  etc. 

May  our  faltering  voices  mingle 
In  the  angel-chanted  psalm  ; 

May  our  earthly  chaplets  linger 
By  the  bright  celestial  palm. 

Chorus — I hey  have  gone  from  us  forever,  etc. 

When  the  May  eternal  dawneth 
At  the  living  God’s  behest. 

We  will  quaff  divine  Nepenthe, 

We  will  share  the  Soldier’s  rest 
Chorus — Where  the  weary  feet  are  resting,  etc. 

Where  the  shadows  are  uplifted 
’Neath  the  never- waning  sun, 
Shout  we,  Gloria  in  Excelsis ! 

We  have  lost,  but  ye  have  won  I 
Chorus — Our  hearts  are  yours  forever, 

Aye,  for  evermore  I 

Ye  have  won  the  crown  immortal, 


138 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  the  cross  of  death  is  o’er, 
Where  the  Oriflamme  is  burning 
On  the  starlit  Edenshore  I 


THE  SOUTHERN  HOMES  IN  RUIN. 

By  R.  B.  A^ance,  of  N.  C. 

j^^ANY  a gray-haired  sire  has  died, 

As  falls  the  oak,  to  rise  no  more, 

Because  his  son,  his  prop,  his  pride. 

Breathed  out  his  last  all  red  with  gore. 

No  more  on  earth,  at  morn,  at  eve, 

Shall  age  and  youth,  entwined  as  one — 

Nor  father,  son,  for  either  grieve — 

Life’s  work,  alas,  for  both  is  done  ! 

Many  a mother’s  heart  has  bled 

While  gazing  on  her  darling  child, 

As  in  its  tiny  eyes  she  read 

The  father’s  image,  kind  and  mild  ; 

For  ne’er  again  his  voice  will  cheer 

The  widowed  heart,  which  mourns  him  dead  • 
Nor  kisses  dry  the  scalding  tear. 

East  falling  on  the  orphan’s  head  I 

Many  a little  form  will  stray 

Adown  the  glen  and  o’er  the  hill, 

And  watch,  with  wistful  looks,  the  way 
For  him  whose  step  is  missing  still ; 

And  when  the  twilight  steals  apace 

O’er  mead,  and  brook,  and  lonely  home. 

And  shadows  cloud  the  dear,  sweet  face — 

The  cry  will  be,  ‘‘  Oh,  papa,  come  ! ” 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


139 


And  many  a home’s  in  ashes  now, 

Where  joy  was  once  a constant  guest, 
And  mournful  groups  there  are,  I trow, 

With  neither  house  nor  place  of  rest; 
And  blood  is  on  the  broken  sill, 

Where  happy  feet  went  to  and  fro, 

And  everywhere,  by  field  and  hill, 

Are  sickening  sights  and  sounds  of  woe ! 

There  is  a God  who  rules  on  high. 

The  widow’s  and  the  orphan’s  friend. 
Who  sees  each  tear  and  hears  each  sigh. 

That  these  lone  hearts  to  Him  may  send ! 
And  when  in  wrath  He  tears  away 

The  reasons  vain  which  men  indite, 

The  record  book  will  plainest  say 

Who’s  in  the  wrong,  and  who  is  right. 


THE  KAPPAHANNOCK  ARMY  SONG. 

- By  John  C.  M’Lemoee. 

The  Rappahannock  River,  in  Virginia,  was  at  one  time  the  dividing 
line  between  the  two  armies.  One  beautiful  moonlight  night,  as  the  armies 
lay  behind  their  breastworks,  like  two  mighty  monsters,  the  band  on  the 
Federalside  commenced  to  play  “The  Star-Spangled  Banner.”  After  the 
band  had  ceased  playing,  “ Dixie  ” burst  forth  from  the  band  on  the  South- 
ern side  ; then  for  a while  all  was  quiet,  when  some  soldier,  on  one  side  or 
the  other,  it  matters  not,  commenced  to  sing,  “ Home,  Sweet  Home.”  It 
was  caught  up  by  others  ; then  by  the  soldiers  on  the  opposite  side,  until 
both  armies  were  singing  that  sweet  old  song,  “ Home,  Sweet  Home.”  And 
who  can  tell  the  silent  tears  that  were  shed  behind  the  breastworks  that 
moonlight  night? 

^^HE  toil  of  the  march  is  over — 

The  pack  will  be  borne  no  more — 

For  we’ve  come  for  the  help  of  Richmond, 

From  the  Rappahannock’s  shore. 


140 


IVAI?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  foe  is  closing  round  us — 

We  can  hear  his  ravening  cry; 

So,  ho  I for  fair  old  Richmond  ! 

Like  soldiers  we’ll  do  or  die. 

We  have  left  the  land  that  bore  us, 

Full  many  a league  away, 

And  our  mothers  and  ‘sisters  miss  us. 

As  with  tearful  eyes  they  pray ; 

But  this  will  repress  their  weeping. 

And  still  the  rising  sigh — 

For  all,  for  fair  old  Richmond, 

Have  come  to  do  or  die. 

We  have  come  to  join  our  brothers 

From  the  proud  Dominion’s  vales. 

And  to  meet  the  dark-cheeked  soldier, 

Tanned  by  the  Tropic  gales ; 

To  greet  them  all  full  gladly, 

AVith  hand  and  beaming  eye, 

And  to  swear  for  fair  old  Richmond, 

We  all  will  do  or  die. 

The  fair  Carolina  sisters 

Stand  ready,  lance  in  hand, 

To  fight  as  they  did  in  an  older  war, 

For  the  sake  of  their  fatherland. 

The  glories  of  Sumter  and  Bethel 

Have  raised  their  fame  full  high. 
But  they’ll  fade,  if  for  fair  old  Richmond 
They  swear  not  to  do  or  die, 

Zollicoffer  looks  down  on  his  people. 

And  trusts  to  their  hearts  and  arms, 

To  avenge  the  blood  he  has  shed. 

In  the  midst  of  the  battle’s  alarms. 


Copyrighted  1904  by  Sue  M.  Maury  Halsey.  JEFFERSON  DAVIS  AND  HIS  CABINET 

Beginning  at  the  left  are  Secretaries  Mallory,  Benjamin,  Walker,  President  Davis,  General  Dee,  Secretaries  Regan,  Meminger, 
Vice-President  Stephens  and  Secretary  Toombs.  This  is  a reproduction  of  a rare  engraving  ovrned  by  Mrs.  James  T.  Halsey,  Presi- 
dent of  the  “Daughters  of  the  Confederacy’’  of  Philadelphia,  and  published  in  this  book  by  special  coiirte.sy  to  the  author. 


IVA/?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


141 


Alabamians,  remember  the  past, 

Be  the  “ South  at  Manassas,”  their  cry ; 

As  onward  for  fair  old  Richmond, 

They  marched  to  do  or  die. 

Brave  Bartow,  from  home  on  high, 

Calls  the  Empire  State  to  the  front, 

To  bear  once  more  as  she  has  borne 
With  glory  the  battle’s  brunt. 
Mississippians  who  know  no  surrender, 

Bear  the  flag  of  the  Chief  on  high ; 

For  he,  too,  for  fair  old  Richmond, 

Has  sworn  to  do  or  die. 

Fair  land  of  my  birth — sweet  Florida — 

Your  arm  is  weak,  but  your  soul 
Must  tell  of  a purer,  holier  strength, 

When  the  drums  for  the  battle  roll. 

Look  within,  for  your  hope  in  the  combat, 

Nor  think  of  your  few  with  a sigh — 

If  you  win  not  for  fair  old  Richmond, 

At  least  you  can  bravely  die. 

Onward  all  I Oh  ! band  of  brothers  I 
The  beat  of  the  long  roll’s  heard  I 
And  the  hearts  of  the  columns  advancing 
By  the  sound  of  its  music  stirred. 
Onward  all ! and  never  return, 

Till  our  foes  from  the  borders  fly — 

To  be  crowned  by  the  fair  of  old  Richmond, 
As  those  who  could  do  or  die. 


142 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  SOLDIER  IN  THE  RAIN. 

By  Julia  L.  Keyes. 

There  was  never  any  thought,  of  course,  in  the  soldiers’  life  as  to  what 
kind  of  weather  we  had  ; but  one  of  our  hardships  was,  either  in  camp  life 
or  on  the  march,  when  it  rained.  The  water  would  run  underneath  us  and 
wet  our  blankets,  and  pour  upon  us  and  saturate  our  clothing,  so  there  was 
no  escape.  The  author  of  this  little  poem  knew  something  of  the  soldiers’ 
experience. 

me  ! the  rain  has  a sadder  sound 
Than  it  ever  had  before  ; 

And  the  wind  more  plaintively  whistles  through 
The  crevices  of  the  door. 

We  know  we  are  safe  beneath  our  roof 
From  every  drop  that  falls  ; 

And  we  feel  secure  and  blest,  within 
The  shelter  of  our  walls. 

Then  why  do  we  dread  to  hear  the  noise 
Of  the  rapid,  rushing  rain — 

And  the  plash  of  the  wintry  drops,  that  beat 
Through  the  blinds,  on  the  window-pane  ? 

We  think  of  the  tents  on  the  lowly  ground, 
Where  our  patriot  soldiers  lie ; 

And  the  sentry’s  bleak  and  lonely  march, 
’Neath  the  dark  and  starless  sky. 

And  we  pray,  with  a tearful  heart,  for  those 
Who  brave  for  us  yet  more — 

And  we  wish  this  war,  with  its  thousand  ills 
And  griefs,  was  only  o’er. 

We  pray  when  the  skies  are  bright  and  clear. 
When  the  winds  are  soft  and  warm — 

But,  oh  ! we  pray  with  an  aching  heart 
’Mid  the  winter’s  rain  and  storm. 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


143 


We  fain  would  lift  these  mantling  clouds 
That  shadow  our  sunny  clime ; 

We  can  but  wait — for  we  know  there’ll  be 
A day,  in  the  coming  time, 

When  peace,  like  a rosy  dawn,  will  flood 
Our  land  with  softest  light ; 

Then — we  will  scarcely  hearken  the  rain 
In  the  dreary  winter’s  night. 


TO  LILY. 

By  Morton  Bryan  Wharton,  D.  D. 

A College  Episode. 

Here  is  a love  poem  of  the  war  times,  and  my  gentle  reader  must  not 
think  it  was  wholly  imaginary.  I knew  the  characters  represented  in  this 
poem,  and  my  brother  was  one  of  them.  It  would  be  quite  an  easy  thing 
to  give  the  name  of  the  fair  woman  who  broke  his  heart ; but  I might  add, 
like  men’s  hearts  always,  it  did  not  stay  broken,  but  was  mended  by  the 
very  next  damsel  who  came  along, 

J THOUGHT  you  an  angel  and  wooed  you  alone. 

As  the  dearest  of  idols  earth  ever  has  known ; 

Yes,  you  were  my  altar,  and  at  the  loved  shrine 
I’ve  paid  the  pure  homage  of  worship  divine. 

My  soul  has  delighted  your  image  to  keep, 

Your  form  has  been  near  me  awake  and  asleep, 

Your  eyes,  Heaven  bless  them,  so  bright  and  so  blue, 
Along  my  dark  pathway  have  thrown  their  soft  hue. 
Emotions  of  rapture  would  rise  in  my  breast 
When  your  smile,  so  angelic,  has  cheered  me  and  blest. 
With  motives  the  purest  my  soul  could  command 
I sought,  I entreated,  your  coveted  hand, 

For  of  all  the  dear  treasures  that  mortals  could  know 
You  alone  upon  me  could  the  richest  bestow. 

You  told  me  you  loved  me,  I thought  you  sincere, 


144 


JVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


My  fears  were  then  banished,  my  sky  was  then  clear. 

I did  not,  I would  not,  I could  not  believe 
That  my  own  darling  Lily  could  ever  deceive. 

Yes,  you  told  me  in  words  which  I ne’er  can  forget 
(Remembered,  alas  ! with  the  deepest  regret) 

That  through  life  you  with  me  would  most  willingly  share 
Each  pleasure,  each  sorrow,  each  blessing,  and  care. 

Oh  ! you  said  that  whatever  my  lot  might  betide 
You  were  mine, — soon  to  be  my  companion  and  bride. 
But  now  in  the  day  of  apparent  success. 

While  all  was  propitious  our  union  to  bless, 

While  my  pathway  lay  scattered  with  flowers  so  rare, 
And  the  Lily  the  richest  of  all  that  were  there. 

While  my  prayers  were  ascending  to  Father  and  Son 
To  bless  and  preserve  us  forever  as  one. 

You  tell  me  in  language  how  coldly  expressed  ! 

That  you  were  “not  in  earnest  but  w'holly  in  jest.” 

Oh,  take  those  wmrds  back,  though  true  they  may  be, 

And  have  not  the  heart  to  confess  them  to  me, 

“ I am  just  like  my  sex,”  have  the  candor  to  say, 

“ I am  false,  I am  fickle.  I’m  treacherous  as  they,” 

But  though,  my  loved  girl,  you  have  broken  my  heart, 
And  do  not  e’en  ask  of  the  ruin  a part. 

Yet  know  that  you’ve  shattered  a spirit  as  true 
As  e’er  was  deceived  by  a lady  like  you  ; 

For  never,  no,  never,  beneath  the  blue  sky,  . 

Will  you  meet  with  a lover  so  faithful  as  1. 

Oh,  had  1 but  honored  my  Saviour  and  Lord, 

In  fervent  affection,  in  deed,  or  in  word. 

With  half  the  devotion  to  you  I have  paid. 

My  hopes  were  not  blighted,  my  love  not  betrayed. 

Yet,  yet,  I forgive  you,  and  leave  you  as  free 
As  the  bird  that,  uncaged,  flies  over  the  sea, 

And  in  my  sad  bosom  shall  linger  the  prayer 
That  Heaven  may  grant  you  a pardon  as  fair. 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


145 


LINCOLN’S  TROOPS. 

By  a.  G.  Goodlett. 

[n  June,  1865,  a battalion  of  Texas  Rangers  arrived  at  Nashville  and 
pitched  its  camp  at  the  Old  Fair  Grounds.  A.  G.  Goodlett  and  Dr.  William 
Minchin  walked  out  to  see  this  noted  troop,  and  while  seated  on  the 
amphitheatre  viewing  the  men  arranging  their  camp,  Goodlett  wTote  the 
following  lines  and  handed  them  to  Dr.  Minchin,  who  at  once  began  to 
sing  them  to  the  tune  of  Dixie.  For  a time  they  were  quite  popular  among 
the  Tennessee  boys,  some  of  whom  may  recognize  them  to-day.  None, 
perhaps,  save  Dr.  Minchin,  ever  knew  their  author. 

T incoln’s  troops,  infatuated  fools, 

Taught  in  Abolition  schools. 

Are  coming  South  to  pull  their  triggers, 

Kill  our  boys  and  free  our  niggers. 

But  how  cowardly  they  will  feel 
When  first  approaching  Southern  steel 
With  one  hurrah  I we’ll  sally  forth 
And  kill  those  rascals  of  the  North. 

Lincoln,  in  a fit  of  frenzy. 

Will  be  seized  with  influenza. 

His  care’s  so  great  he  can’t  be  civil, 

He’ll  follow  John  Brown  to  the  devil. 


THE  EMPTY  SLEEVE. 

By  Dr.  J.  R.  Bagby,  of  Virginia. 

old  fellow,  I grieve  to  see  ' 

The  sleeve  hanging  loose  at  your  side ; 
The  arm  you  lost  was  worth  to  me 
Every  Yankee  that  ever  died. 

But  you  don’t  mind  it  at  all. 

You  swear  you’ve  a beautiful  stump, 
And  laugh  at  that  damnable  ball — 

Tom,  I knew  you  were  always  a trump. 


10 


146 


tVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


A good  right  arm,  a nervy  hand, 

A wrist  as  strong  as  a sapling  oak, 

Buried  deep  in  the  Malvern  sand — 

To  laugh  at  that  is  a sorry  joke. 

Never  again  your  iron  grip 

Shall  I feel  in  my  shrinking  palm — 

Tom,  Tom,  I see  your  trembling  lip ; 

All  within  is  not  calm. 

Well ! the  arm  is  gone,  it  is  true ; 

But  the  one  that  is  nearest  the  heart 
Is  left — and  that’s  as  good  as  two ; 

Tom,  old  fellow,  what  makes  you  start  ? 
Why,  man,  she  thinks  that  empty  sleeve 
A badge  of  honor  ; so  do  I, 

And  all  of  us — I do  believe 

The  fellow  is  going  to  cry  1 

She  deserves  a perfect  man,”  you  say ; 

You  were  not  worth  her  in  your  prime;” 

Tom  ! the  arm  that  has  turned  to  clay, 

Your  whole  body  has  made  sublime  ; 

For  you  have  placed  in  the  Malvern  earth 
The  proof  and  pledge  of  a noble  life — 

And  the  rest,  henceforward  of  higher  worth 
Will  be  dearer  than  all  to  your  wife, 

I see  the  people  in  the  street 

Look  at  your  sleeve  with  kindling  eyes ; 
And  you  know,  Tom,  there’s  naught  so  sweet 
As  homage  shown  in  mute  surmise. 
Bravely  your  arm  in  battle  strove. 

Freely  for  Freedom’s  sake  you  gave  it ; 

It  has  perished — but  a nation’s  love 
In  proud  remembrance  will  save  it 


lVAI^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


147 


Go  to  your  sweetheart,  then,  forthwith — 

You’re  a fool  for  staying  so  long — 

Woman’s  love  you’ll  find  no  myth, 

But  a truth — living,  tender,  strong. 

And  when  around  her  slender  belt 

Your  left  is  clasped  in  fond  embrace. 

Your  right  will  thrill,  as  if  it  felt. 

In  its  grave,  the  usurper’s  place. 

As  I look  through  the  coming  years, 

I see  a one-armed  married  man  ; 

A little  woman,  with  smiles  and  tears; 

Is  helping  as  hard  as  she  can 
To  put  on  his  coat,  to  pin  his  sleeve, 

Tie  his  cravat,  and  cut  his  food ; 

And  I say,  as  these  fancies  I weave. 

That  is  Tom,  and  the  woman  he  wooed.” 

The  years  roll  on,  and  then  I see 

A wedding  picture,  bright  and  fair ; 

I look  closer,  and  it’s  plain  to  me 

That  is  Tom  with  the  silver  hair. 

He  gives  away  the  lovely  bride, 

And  the  guests  linger,  loth  to  leave 
The  house  of  him  in  whom  they  pride — 

Brave  old  Tom  with  the  empty  sleeve.” 


CHICKAMAUGA— THE  STREAM  OF  DEATH.” 

^HiCKAMAUGA  ! Chickamauga ! 

O’er  thy  dark  and  turbid  wave 
Rolls  the  death-cry  of  the  daring. 

Rings  the  war-shout  of  the  brave ; 
Round  thy  shore  the  red  fires  fiashing. 
Startling  shot  and  screaming  shell — 
Chickamauga,  stream  of  battle. 

Who  thy  fearful  tale  shall  tell  ? 


148 


JVAR  SOA^GS  OF  7 HE  CONFEDERACY 


Olden  memories  of  horror, 

Sown  by  scourge  of  deadly  plague, 

Long  have  clothed  thy  circling  forests 
With  a terror  vast  and  vague, 

Xow  to  gather  further  vigor 

From  the  phantoms  grim  with  gore, 

Hurried,  by  war’s  wilder  carnage. 

To  their  graves  on  thy  lone  shore. 

Long,  with  hearts  subdued  and  saddened, 
As  th’  oppressor’s  hosts  moved  on. 
Fell  the  arms  of  freedom  backward. 

Till  our  hopes  had  almost  flown  ; 

Till  outspoke  stern  valor’s  flat — 

Here  th’  invading  wave  shall  stay  ; 
Here  shall  cease  the  foe’s  proud  progress ; 
Here  be  crushed  his  grand  array  1 ” 

Then  their  eager  hearts  all  throbbing, 

Backward  flashed  each  battle-flag 
Of  the  veteran  corps  of  Longstreet, 

And  the  sturdy  troops  of  Bragg ; 

Fierce  upon  the  foemen  turning. 

All  their  pent-up  wrath  breaks  out 
In  the  furious  battle-clangor. 

And  the  frenzied  battle-shout. 

Boll  thy  dark  waves,  Chickamauga, 
Trembles  all  thy  ghastly  shore. 

With  the  rude  shock  of  the  onset. 

And  the  tumult’s  horrid  roar; 

As  the  Southern  battle-giants 

Hurl  their  bolts  of  death  along, 
Breckenridge,  the  iron-hearted, 

Cheatham,  chivalric  and  strong  : 


ASHBY  ON  HIS  MILK-WHITE  STEED 

Brigadier-General  Turner  Ashby  of  Virginia  was  killed  near  Harrisonburg,  Vir- 
ginia, June  6,  1862.  This  picture  is  a copy  of  an  old  photograph  and  obtained  for 
this  book  by  Miss  Kdyth  Carter  Beveridge. 


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lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


149 


Polk  and  Preston — gallant  Buckner,  * 

Hill  and  Hindman,  strong  in  might, 

Cleburne,  flower  of  manly  valor,  • 

Hood,  the  Ajax  of  the  fight ; 

Penning,  bold  and  hardy  warrior, 

Fearless,  resolute  Kershaw  ; 

Mingle  battle-yell  and  death-bolt, 

Volley  fierce  and  wild  hurrah! 

At  the  volleys  bleed  their  bodies. 

At*  the  fierce  shout  rise  their  souls, 

While  the  fiery  wave  of  vengeance 
On  their  quailing  column  rolls  ; 

And  the  parched  throats  of  the  stricken 
Breathe  for  air  the  roaring  flame, 

Horrors  of  that  hell  foretasted 

Who  shall  ever  dare  to  name  I 

Borne  by  those  who,  stiff  and  mangled. 

Paid,  upon  that  bloody  field. 

Direful,  cringing,  awe-struck  homage 
To  the  sword  our  heroes  wield  ; 

And  who  felt,  by  fiery  trial. 

That  the  men  who  will  be  free, 

Though  in  conflict  baffled  often. 

Ever  will  unconquered  be  ! 

Learned,  though  long  unchecked  they  spoil  us. 
Dealing  desolation  round. 

Marking,  with  the  track  of  ruin, 

Many  a rood  of  Southern  ground  ; 

Yet,  whatever  course  they  follow. 

Somewhere  in  their  pathway  flows. 

Dark  and  deep,  a Chickamauga, 

Stream  of  death  to  vandal  foes  ! 


150 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


They  have  found  it  darkly  flowing 
By  Manassas’  famous  plain, 

And  by  rushing  Shenandoah 
Met  the  tide  of  woe  again ; 
Chickahominy,  immortal, 

By  the  long,  ensanguined  flght, 
Bappahannock,  glorious  river, 

Twice  renowned  for  matchless  flght. 


Heed  the  story,  dastard  spoilers, 

Mark  the  tale  these  waters  tell. 
Ponder  well  your  fearful  lesson. 

And  the  doom  that  there  befell ; 
Learn  to  shun  the  Southern  vengeance, 
Sworn  upon  the  votive  sword, 
Efvery  stream  a Chickamauga 
To  the  vile  invading  horde  I ” 


SAVANNAH. 

By  Alethea  S.  Burroughs. 


‘hou  hast  not  drooped  thy  stately  head. 


Thy  woes  a wondrous  beauty  shed  ! 
Not  like  a lamb  to  slaughter  led. 

But  with  the  lion’s  monarch  tread. 

Thou  comest  to  thy  battle  bed. 


Savannah  ! oh.  Savannah  I 

Thine  arm  of  flesh  is  girded  strong  ; 

The  blue  veins  swell  beneath  thy  wrong  I 
To  thee,  the  triple  cords  belong. 

Of  woe,  and  death,  and  shameless  wrong, 
And  spirit  vaunted  long,  too  long  I 


Savannah  I oh.  Savannah  I 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


151 


No  blood-stains  spot  thy  forehead  fair ; 

Only  the  martyrs’  blood  is  there  ; 

It  gleams  upon  thy  bosom  bare, 

It  moves  thy  deep,  deep  soul  to  prayer. 

And  tunes  a dirge  for  thy  sad  ear. 

Savannah  ! oh,  Savannah  I 

Thy  clean  white  hand  is  opened  wide 
For  weal  or  woe,  thou  Freedom  bride. 
The  sword-sheath  sparkles  at  thy  side, 
Thy  plighted  troth,  whate’er  betide. 

Thou  hast  but  Freedom  for  thy  guide. 

Savannah  ! oh,  Savannah  ! 

What  though  the  heavy  storm-cloud  lowers — 

Still  at  thy  feet  the  old  oak  towers  ; 

Still  fragrant  are  thy  jessamine  bowers. 

And  things  of  beauty,  love,  or  flowers. 

Are  smiling  o’er  this  land  of  ours, 

My  sunny  home.  Savannah  ! 

There  is  no  film  before  thy  sight — 

Thou  seest  woe,  and  death,  and  night — 
And  blood  upon  thy  banner  bright ; 

But  in  thy  full  wrath’s  kindled  might. 
What  carest  thou  for  woe,  or  night? 

My  rebel  home,  Savannah 

Come — for  the  crown  is  on  thy  head  ; 

Thy  woes  a wondrous  beauty  shed. 

Not  like  a lamb  to  slaughter  led. 

But  with  the  lion’s  monarch  tread. 

Oh  ! come  unto  thy  battle  bed. 

Savannah ! oh, Savannah  I 


152 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


DIRGE  FOR  ASHBY. 

By  Mrs.  M.  J.  Preston. 

JJeard  ye  that  thrilling  word — 

Accent  of  dread — 

Fall,  like  a thunderbolt, 

Bowing  each  head  ? 

Over  the  battle  dun. 

Over  each  booming  gun — 

Ashby,  our  bravest  one  I 
Ashby  is  dead  I 

Saw  ye  the  veterans — 

Hearts  that  had  known 
Never  a quail  of  fear. 

Never  a groan — 

Sob,  though  the  fight  they  win, 
Tears  their  stern  eyes  within — 
Ashby,  our  Paladin, 

Ashby  is  dead  I 

Dash,  dash  the  tear  away — 

Crush  down  the  pain  ! 

Dulce  et  decus,  be 
Fittest  refrain  ! 

Why  should  the  dreary  pall, 

Round  him  be  fiung  at  all  ? 

Did  not  our  hero  fall 
Gallantly  slain  ? 

Catch  the  last  words  of  cheer, 
Dropt  from  his  tongue  : 
Over  the  battle’s  din, 

Let  them  be  rung  ! 

‘‘  Follow  me!  follow  me! 
Soldier,  oh  I could  there  be 
Psean  or  dirge  for  thee, 

Loftier  sung  ? 


WAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


153 


Bold  as  the  lion’s  heart — 

Dauntlessly  brave — 

Knightly  as  knightliest ; 

Bayard  might  crave ; 

Sweet,  with  all  Sydney’s  grace, 

Tender  as  Hampden ’s  face, 

Who  now  shall  fill  the  space, 

Void  by  his  grave  ? 

’Tis  not  one  broken  heart, 

Wild  with  dismay — 
Crazed  in  her  agony, 

Weeps  o’er  his  clay  I 
Ah  I From  a thousand  eyes, 
Flow  the  pure  tears  that  rise— 
Widowed  Virginia  lies 
Stricken  to-day  I 

Yet  charge  as  gallantly. 

Ye,  whom  he  led  I 
Jackson,  the  victor,  still 

Leads  at  your  head  I 
Heroes  ! be  battle  done 
Bravelier,  every  one 
Nerved  by  the  thought  alone — 

Ashby  is  dead  ! 


ONLY  A SOLDIER’S  GRAVE. 

By  S.  a.  Jones,  of  Aberdeen,' Mississippi. 

^^NLY  a soldier’s  grave  ! Pass  by. 

For  soldiers,  like  other  mortals,  die. 
Parents  he  had — they  are  far  away ; 

No  sister  weeps  o’er  the  soldier’s  clay; 

No  brother  comes,  with  a tearful  eye  : 

It’s  only  a soldier’s  grave — pass  by. 


154 


JVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


True,  he  was  loving,  and  young,  and  brave. 
Though  no  glowing  epitaph  honors  his  grave ; 

No  proud  recital  of  virtues  known. 

Of  griefs  endured,  or  of  triumphs  won ; 

No  tablet  of  marble,  or  obelisk  high  ; — 

Only  a soldier’s  grave — pass  by. 

Yet  bravely  he  wielded  his  sword  in  fight. 

And  he  gave  his  life  in  the  cause  of  right ! 

When  his  hope  was  high,  and  his  youthful  dream 
As  warm  as  the  sunlight  on  yonder  stream  ; 

His  heart  unvexed  by  sorrow  or  sigh  ; — 

Yet,  ’tis  only  a soldier’s  grave : — pass  by. 

Yet,  should  we  mark  it — the  soldier’s  grave, 

Some  one  may  seek  him  in  hope  to  save  1 
Some  of  the  dear  ones,  far  away, 

Would  bear  him  home  to  his  native  clay ; 

’Twere  sad,  indeed,  should  they  wander  nigh, 
Find  not  the  hillock,  and  pass  him  by. 


PROMISE  OF  SPRING. 

sun-beguiling  breeze. 

From  the  soft  Cuban  seas, 

With  life-bestowing  kiss  wakes  the  pride  of  garden  bowers 
And  lo  I our  city  elms. 

Have  plumed  with  buds  their  helms, 

And  with  tiny  spears  salute  the  coming  on  of  flowers. 

The  promise  of  the  Spring, 

Is  in  every  glancing  wing 

That  tells  its  flight  in  song  which  shall  long  survive  the 
flight ; 


JVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


155 


And,  mocking  Winter’s  glooms, 

Skies,  air  and  earth  grow  blooms, 

With  charge  as  bless’d  as  ever  came  with  passage  of  a night ! 

Ah  ! could  our  hearts  but  share 
The  promise  rich  and  rare. 

That  welcomes  life  to  rapture  in  each  happy  fond  caress. 

That  makes  each  innocent  thing 
Put  on  its  bloom  and  wing, 

Singing  for  Spring  to  come  to  the  realm  she  still  would  bless  ! 

But,  alas  for  us,  no  more 
Shall  the  coming  hour  restore 
The  glory,  sweet  and  wanted,  of  the  seasons  to  our  souls ; 
Even  as  the  spring  appears. 

Her  smiling  makes  our  tears 
While  with  each  bitter  memory  the  torrent  o’er  us  rolls. 

Even  as  our  zephyrs  sing 
That  they  bring  us  in  the  Spring, 

Even  as  our  bird  grows  musical  in  ecstasy  of  flight — 

We  see  the  serpent  crawl. 

With  his  slimy  coat  o’er  all. 

And  blended  with  the  song  is  the  hissing  of  his  blight. 

We  shudder  at  the  blooms. 

Which  but  serve  to  cover  tombs — 

At  the  very  sweet  of  odors  which  blend,  venom  with  the 
breath. 

Sad  shapes  look  out  from  trees. 

And  in  sky  and  earth  and  breeze. 

We  behold  but  the  aspect  of  a Horror  worse  than  Death  ! 

&ouih  Carolinian. 


156 


JVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


SPRING. 

By  Henry  Timrod. 

^PRiNG,  with  that  nameless  pathos  in  the  air 
Which  dwells  with  all  things  fair, 

Spring,  with  her  golden  suns  and  silver  rain, 

Is  with  us  once  again. 

Out  in  the  lonely  woods  the  jasmine  burns 
Its  fragrant  lamps,  and  turns 
Into  a royal  court  with  green  festoons 
The  banks  of  dark  lagoons. 

In  the  deep  heart  of  every  forest  tree 
The  blood  is  all  aglee. 

And  there’s  a look  about  the  leafless  bowers 
As  if  they  dreamed  of  flowers. 

Yet  still  on  every  side  appears  the  hand 
Of  Winter  in  the  land. 

Save  where  the  maple  reddens  on  the  lawn, 
Flushed  by  the  season’s  dawn ; 

Or  where,  like  those  strange  semblances  we  And 
That  age  to  childhood  bind. 

The  elm  puts  on,  as  if  in  Nature’s  scorn. 

The  brown  of  Autumn  corn. 

As  yet  the  turf  is  dark,  although  you  know 
That,  not  a span  below, 

A thousand  germs  are  groping  through  the  gloom, 
And  soon  will  burst  their  tomb. 

Already,  here  and  there,  on  frailest  stems 
Appear  some  azure  gems, 

Small  as  might  deck,  upon  a gala  day. 

The  forehead  of  a fry 


BRIGADIER-GENERAL  J.  E.  B.  STUART  LIEUTENANT-GENERAL  JUBAL  A.  EARLY 


lVA7^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


157 


111  gardens  you  may  see,  amid  the  dearth, 

The  crocus  breaking  earth  ; 

And  near  the  snowdrop,  tender,  white  and  green, 

The  violet  in  its  screen. 

But  many  gleams  and  shadows  need  must  pass 
Along  the  budding  grass, 

And  weeks  go  by,  before  the  enamored  South 
Shall  kiss  the  rose’s  mouth. 

Still  there’s  a sense  of  blossoms  yet  unborn 
In  the  sweet  airs  of  morn ; 

One  almost  looks  to  see  the  very  street 
Grow  purple  at  his  feet. 

At  times  a fragrant  breeze  comes  floating  by 
And  brings,  you  know  not  why, 

A feeling  as  when  eager  crowds  await 
Before  a palace  gate 

Some  wondrous  pageant ; and  you  scarce  would  start, 
If  from  a beech’s  heart 

A blue-eyed  Dryad,  stepping  forth,  should  say 
“ Behold  me  ! I am  May  ! ” 

Ah  ! who  would  couple  thoughts  of  war  and  crime 
With  such  a blessed  time  ! 

Who  in  the  westwind’s  aromatic  breath 
Could  hear  the  call  of  Death  ! 

Yet  not  more  surely  shall  the  Spring  awake 
The  voice  of  wood  and  brake. 

Than  she  shall  rouse,  for  all  her  tranquil  charms 
A million  men  to  arms. 

There  shall  be  deeper  hues  upon  her  plains 
Than  all  her  sunlight  rains. 

And  every  gladdening  influence  around 
Can  summon  from  the  ground. 


168 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Oh  ! standing  on  this  desecrated  mould, 
Methinks  that  I behold, 

Lifting  her  bloody  daisies  up  to  God, 

Spring,  kneeling  on  the  sod. 

And  calling  with  the  voice  of  all  her  rills. 
Upon  the  ancient  hills. 

To  fall  and  crush  the  tyrants  and  the  slaves 
Who  turn  her  meads  to  graves. 


CAEOLINA. 

By  Henry  Timrod. 

npHE  despot  treads  thy  sacred  sands. 

Thy  pines  give  shelter  to  his  bands, 

Thy  sons  stand  by  with  idle  hands, 

Carolina  ! 

He  breathes  at  ease  thy  airs  of  balm, 

He  scorns  the  lances  of  thy  palm  ; 

Oh  ! who  shall  break  thy  craven  calm, 

Carolina  I 

Thy  ancient  fame  is  growing  dim, 

A spot  is  on  thy  garment’s  rim  ; 

Give  to  the  winds  thy  battle-hymn, 

Carolina  ! 

Cali  on  thy  children  of  the  hill. 

Wake  swamp  and  river,  coast  and  rill, 
Rouse  all  thy  strength  and  all  thy  skill, 

Carolina  ! 

Cite  wealth  and  science,  trade  and  art. 

Touch  with  thy  lire  the  cautious  mart. 

And  pour  thee  through  the  people’s  heart, 

Carolina  ! 


IVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


159 


Till  even  the  coward  spurns  his  fears, 

And  all  thy  fields,  and  fens,  and  meres. 

Shall  bristle  like  thy  palm,  with  spears, 

Carolina  ! 

Hold  up  the  glories  of  thy  dead  ; 

Say  how  thy  elder  children  bled. 

And  point  to  Eutaw’s  battle-bed, 

Carolina  I 

Tell  how  the  patriot’s  soul  was  tried. 

And  what  his  dauntless  breast  defied  ; 

How  Rutledge  ruled,  and  Laurens  died, 

Carolina  ! 

Cry  ! till  thy  summons,  heard  at  last, 
Shall  fall,  like  Marion’s  bugle-blast, 
Re-echoed  from  the  haunted  past, 

Carolina ! 


I hear  a murmur,  as  of  waves 

That  grope  their  way  through  sunless  caves. 

Like  bodies  struggling  in  their  graves, 

Carolina  ! 

And  now  it  deepens ; slow  and  grand 
It  swells,  as  rolling  to  the  land 
An  ocean  broke  upon  the  strand, 

Carolina  ! 

Shout ! let  it  reach  the  startled  Huns  ! 

And  roar  with  all  thy  festal  guns  1 
It  is  the  answer  of  thy  sons, 

Carolina  ! 

They  will  not  wait  to  hear  thee  call  ; 
From  Sachem’s  head  to  Sumter’s  wall 
Resounds  the  voice  of  hut  and  hall, 

Carolina  ! 


160 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


No  ! thou  hast  not  a stain,  they  say, 

Or  none  save  what  the  battle-day 
Shall  wash  in  seas  of  blood  away, 

Carolina ! 

Thy  skirts,  indeed,  the  foe  may  part. 

Thy  robe  be  pierced  with  sword  and  dart. 
They  shall  not  touch  thy  noble  heart, 

Carolina  I 

Ere  thou  shalt  own  the  tyrant’s  thrall, 

Ten  times  ten  thousand  men  must  fall ; 

Thy  corpse  may  hearken  to  his  call, 

Carolina  ! 

When  by  thy  bier,  in  mournful  throngs. 
The  women  chant  thy  mortal  wrongs, 
’Twill  be  their  own  funereal  songs, 

Carolina  1 

From  thy  dead  breast,  by  ruffians  trod. 

No  helpless  child  shall  look  to  God  ; 

All  shall  be  safe  beneath  thy  sod, 

Carolina  ! 

Girt  with  such  wills  to  do  and  bear. 
Assured  in  right,  and  mailed  in  prayer. 
Thou  wilt  not  bow  thee  to  despair, 

Carolina  I 

Throw  thy  bold  banner  to  the  breeze  ! 

Front  with  thy  ran' s the  threatening  seas. 

Like  thine  own  proud  armorial  trees, 

Carolina  ! 

Fling  down  tliy  gauntlet  to  the  Huns, 
And  roar  the  challenge  from  thy  guns  ; 
Then  leave  the  future  to  thy  sons, 

Carolina  1 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


16i 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

’^"jpwAS  a goodly  boon  that  our  fathers  gave, 

And  fits  but  ill  to  be  held  by  the  slave ; 

And  sad  were  the  thought,  if  one  of  our  band 
Should  give  up  the  hope  of  so  fair  a land. 

But  the  hour  has  come,  and  the  times  that  tried 
The  souls  of  men  in  our  days  of  pride. 

Return  once  more,  and  now  for  the  brave. 

To  merit  the  boon  which  our  fathers  gave. 

And  if  there  be  one  base  spirit  who  stands 
Now,  in  our  peril,  with  folded  hands. 

Let  his  grave  at  once  in  the  soil  be  wrought. 

With  the  sword  with  which  his  old  father  fought. 

An  oath  sublime  should  the  freeman  take. 

Still  braving  the  fight  and  the  felon  stake ; — 
The  oath  that  his  sires  brought  over  the  sea*. 
When  they  pledged  their  swords  to  Liberty  I 

’Twas  a goodly  oath,  and  in  Heaven’s  own  sight. 

They  battled  and  bled  in  behalf  of  the  right ; 

’Twas  hallowed  by  God  with  the  holiest  sign. 

And  seal’d  with  the  blood  of  your  sires  and  mine. 

We  cannot  forget  and  we  dare  not  forego. 

The  holy  duty  to  them  that  we  owe. 

The  duty  that  pledges  the  soul  of  the  son 
To  keep  the  freedom  his  sire  hath  won. 

To  suffer  no  proud  transgressor  to  spoil 
One  right  of  our  homes,  or  one  foot  of  our  soil, 

One  privilege  pluck  from  our  keeping,  or  dare 
Usurp  one  blessing  ’tis  fit  that  we  share ! 

11 


162 


IV A R SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Art  ready  for  this,  dear  brother,  who  still 
Keep’st  Washington’s  bones  upon  A^ernon’s  hill? 

Art  ready  for  this,  deaf  brother,  whose  ear. 

Should  ever  the  voices  of  Mecklenburg  hear  ? 

Thou  art  ready,  I know,  brother  nearest  my  heart, 

Son  of  Eutaw  and  Ashley,  to  do  thy  part ; 

The  sword  and  the  rifle  are  bright  in  thy  hands. 

And  wait  but  the  word  for  the  flashing  of  brands ! 

And  thou,  by  Savannah’s  broad  valleys, — and  thou 
Where  the  Black  Warrior  murmurs  in  echoes  the  vow  ; 
And  thou,  youngest  son  of  our  sires,  who  roves 
Where  Apalachicola  glides  through  her  groves. 

Nor  shall  Tennessee  pause,  when  like  voice  from  the  steep. 
The  great  South  shall  summon  her  sons  from  their  sleep  ; 
Nor  Kentucky  be  slow,  when  our  trumpet  shall  call. 

To  tear  down  the  rifle  that  hangs  on  her  wall  1 

Oh,  sound,  to  awaken  the  dead  from  their  graves, 

The  will  that  would  thrust  us  from  place  for  our  slaves. 
That,  by  fraud  which  lacks  courage,  and  plea  that  lacks  truth. 
Would  rob  us  of  right  without  reason  or  ruth. 

Dost  thou  hearken,  brave  Creole,  as  fearless  as  strong. 

Nor  rouse  thee  to  combat  the  infamous  wrong? 

Ye  hear  it,  I know,  in  the  depth  of  your  souls, 

Valiant  race,  through  whose  valley  the  great  river  rolls. 

At  last  ye  are  wakened,  all  rising  at  length. 

In  the  passion  of  pride,  in  the  fulness  of  strength  ; 

And  now  let  the  struggle  begin  which  shall  see. 

If  the  son,  like  the  sire,  is  fit  to  be  free. 

We  are  sworn  to  the  State,  from  our  fathers  that  came. 

To  welcome  the  ruin,  but  never  the  shame  ; 

To  yield  not  a foot  of  our  soil,  nor  a right. 

While  the  soul  and  the  sword  are  still  fit  for  the  fight. 


IVAJe  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


163 


Then,  brothers,  your  hands  and  your  hearts,  while  we  draw 
The  bright  sword  of  right,  on  the  charter  of  law  ; — 

Here  the  record  was  writ  by  our  fathers,  and  here. 

To  keep,  with  the  sword,  that  old^  record,  we  sweare. 

Let  those  who  defile  and  deface  it,  be  sure. 

No  longer  their  wrong  or  their  fraud  we  endure ; 

We  will  scatter  in  scorn  every  link  of  the  chain. 

With  which  they  would  fetter  our  free  souls  in  vain. 

How  goodly  and  bright  were  its  links  at  the  first ! 

How  loathly  and  foul,  in  their  usage  accurst  I 
We  had  worn  it  in  pride  while  it  honor’d  the  brave, 

But  we  rend  it,  when  only  grown  fit  for  the  slave. 


BATTLE  HYMN. 


ORD  of  Hosts,  that  beholds  us  in  battle,  defending 


^ The  homes  of  our  sires  ’gainst  the  hosts  of  the  foe. 
Send  us  help  on  the  wings  of  thy  angels  descending, 

And  shield  from  his  terrors,  and  baffle  his  blow. 

Warm  the  faith  of  our  sons,  till  they  flame  as  the  iron. 
Red-glowing  from  the  fire-forge,  kindled  by  zeal ; 

Make  them  forward  to  grapple  the  hordes  that  environ. 

In  the  storm-rush  of  battle,  through  forests  of  steel ! 

Teach  them.  Lord,  that  the  cause  of  their  country  makes 


glorious 


The  martyr  who  falls  in  the  front  of  the  fight ; — 

That  the  faith  which  is  steadfast  makes  ever  victorious 
The  arm  which  strikes  boldly  defending  the  right ; — 
That  the  zeal,  which  is  roused  by  the  wrongs  of  a nation. 
Is  a war-horse  that  sweeps  o’er  the  field  as  his  own  ; 
And  the  Faith,  which  is  winged  by  the  soul’s  approbation. 
Is  a warrior,  in  proof,  that  can  ne’er  be  o’erthrown. 


164 


IVAI^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


KENTUCKY,  SHE  IS  SOLD. 

By  J.  R.  Barbick,  of  Kentucky. 

A TEAR  for  the  dark  and  bloody  ground,’^ 

For  the  land  of  hills  and  caves  ; 

Her  Kentons,  Boones,  and  her  Shelbys  sleep 
Where  the  vandals  tread  their  graves  ; 

A sigh  for  the  loss  of  her  honored  fame, 

Dear  won  in  the  days  of  old  ; 

Her  ship  is  manned  by  a foreign  crew. 

For  Kentucky,  she  is  sold. 

The  bones  of  her  sons  lie  bleaching  on 
The  plains  of  Tippecanoe, 

On  the  field  of  Raisin  her  blood  was  shed. 
As  free  as  the  summer’s  dew  ; 

In  Mexico  her  McRee  and  Clay 

Were  first  of  the  brave  and  bold — 

A change  has  been  in  her  bosom  wrought, 
For  Kentucky,  she  is  sold. 

Pride  of  the  free,  was  that  noble  State, 

And  her  banner  still  were  so. 

Had  the  iron  heel  of  the  despot  not 
Her  prowess  sunk  so  low  ; 

Her  valleys  once  were  the  freeman’s  home. 

Her  valor  unbought  with  gold. 

But  now  the  pride  of  her  life  is  fled. 

For  Kentucky,  she  is  sold. 

Her  brave  would  once  have  scorned  to  wear 
The  yoke  that  crushes  her  now, 

And  the  tyrant  grasp,  and  the  vandal  tread. 
Would  sullen  have  made  her  brow ; 
Her  spirit  yet  will  be  wakened  up. 

And  her  saddened  fate  be  told. 

Her  gallant  sons  to  the  world  yet  prove 
That  Kentucky  is  not  sold. 


DISTINGUISHED  MEN  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 

Beginning'  at  top  and  going  to  right  are  Judah  P.  Benjamin,  John  vS’idell.  William 
L,  Yancey,  Major  General  John  C.  Breckcnridge,  Governor  Henry  A Wi-se, 
James  M.  Mn^on,  Alexander  II.  Stephens. 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


165 


THE  SALKEHATCHIE. 

By  Emily  J.  Moore. 

Written  when  a garrison,  at  or  near  Salkehatchie  Bridge,  were  threat- 
ening a raid  up  in  the  Fork  of  Big  and  Little  Salkehatchie. 

crystal  streams,  the  pearly  streams, 

The  streams  in  sunbeams  flashing, 

The  murmuring  streams,  the  gentle  streams, 

The  streams  down  mountains  dashing. 

Have  been  the  theme 
Of  poets’  dream. 

And,  in  wild  witching  story. 

Have  been  renowned  for  love’s  fond  scenes. 

Or  some  great  deed  of  glory. 

The  Rhine,  the  Tiber,  Ayr,  and  Tweed, 

The  Arno,  silver-flowing. 

The  Hudson,  Charles,  Potomac,  Don, 

With  poesy  are  glowing  ; 

But  I would  praise 
In  artless  lays, 

A stream  which  well  may  match  ye. 
Though  dark  its  waters  glide  along — 

The  swampy  Salkehatchie. 

’Tis  not  the  beauty  of  its  stream. 

Which  makes  it  so  deserving 
Or  honor  at  the  Muses’  hands. 

But  ’tis  the  use  it’s  serving. 

And  ’gainst  a raid. 

We  hope  its  aid 
Will  ever  prove  efficient. 

Its  fords  remain  still  overflowed. 

In  water  ne’er  deficient. 


166 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


If  Vandal  bands  are  held  in  check, 
Their  crossing  thus  prevented, 
And  we  are  spared  the  ravage  wild 
Their  malice  has  invented, 
Then  we  may  well 
In  numbers  tell 
No  other  stream  can  match  ye, 
And  grateful  we  shall  ever  be 
To  swampy  Salkehatchie. 


THE  KNELL  SHALL  SOUND  ONCE  MORE. 

J KNOW  that  the  knell  shall  sound  once  more, 
And  the  dirge  be  sung  o er  a bloody  grave  , 
And  there  shall  be  storm  on  the  beaten  shore, 

And  there  shall  be  strife  on  the  stormy  wave  ; 
And  we  shall  wail,  with  a mighty  wail, 

And  feel  the  keen  sorrow  through  many  years. 
But  shall  not  our  banner  at  last  prevail, 

And  our  eyes  be  dried  of  tears  ? 

There’s  a bitter  pledge  for  each  fruitful  tree, 

And  the  nation  whose  course  is  long  to  run. 
Must  make,  though  in  anguish  still  it  be, 

The  tribute  of  many  a noble  son  ; 

The  roots  of  each  mighty  shaft  must  grow 

In  the  blood-red  fountain  of  many  hearts ; 
And  to  conquer  the  right  from  a bloody  foe, 

Brings  a pang  as  when  soul  and  body  parts  I 

But  the  blood  and  the  pang  are  the  need,  alas  ! 

To  strengthen  the  sovereign  will  that  sways 
The  generations  that  rise,  and  pass 

To  the  full  fruition  that  crowns  their  days  I 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


167 


^Tis  still  in  the  strife,  they  must  grow  to  life  : 

And  sorrow  shall  strengthen  the  soul  for  care ; 
And  the  freedom  sought  must  ever  be  bought 
By  the  best  blood-offerings,  held  most  dear. 

Heroes,  the  noblest,  shall  still  be  first 
To  mount  the  red  altar  of  sacrifice ; 

Homes  the  most  sacred  shall  fare  the  worst. 

Ere  we  conquer  and  win  the  precious  prize  ! — 
The  struggle  may  last  for  a thousand  years. 

And  only  with  blood  shall  the  field  be  bought ; 
But  the  sons  shall  inherit,  through  blood  and  tears. 
The  birth-right  for  which  their  old  fathers  fough 


LIBERA  NOS,  O DOMINE  I 
By  James  Barron  Hope. 

hat  I ye  hold  yourselves  as  freemen  ? 

Tyrants  love  just  such  as  ye  I 
Go  ! abate  your  lofty  manner  ! 

Write  upon  the  State’s  old  banner, 

A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ” 

Sink  before  the  federal  altar, 

Each  one  low,  on  bended  knee, 
Pray,  with  lips  that  sob  and  falter. 

This  prayer  from  the  coward’s  psajter, — 
“ A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine!  ” 

But  ye  hold  that  quick  repentance 
In  the  Northern  mind  will  be ; 

This  repentance  comes  no  sooner 


168 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Than  the  robbers  did,  at  Luna  ! 

‘‘  A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ’’ 

He  repented  him : — the  Bishop 
Gave  him  absolution  free  ; 

Poured  upon  him  sacred  chrism 
In  the  pomp  of  his  baptism. 

A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ” 

He  repented ; — then  he  sickened  ! 

AYas  he  pining  for  the  sea? 

In  extremis  was  he  shriven, 

The  viaticum  was  given, 

“ A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ” 

Then  the  old  cathedral’s  choir 

Took  the  plaintive  minor  key ; 
With  the  Host  upraised  before  him, 
Down  the  marble  aisles  they  bore  him ; 
“ A f urore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ” 

While  the  bishop  and  the  abbot — 

All  the  monks  of  high  degree, 

Chanting  praise  to  the  Madonna, 

Came  to  do  him  Christian  honor  I 
“ A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine!’^ 

Now  the  miserere’s  cadence, 

Takes  the  voices  of  the  sea  ; 

As  the  music-billows  quiver. 

See  the  dead  freebooter  shiver  ! 

‘Cl  furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ” 


WAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


169 


Is  it  that  these  intonations 

Thrill  him  thus  from  head  to  knee  ? 

Lo,  his  cerements  burst  asunder  ! 

’Tis  a sight  of  fear  and  wonder ! 

“ A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ’’ 

Fierce,  he  stands  before  the  bishop, 

Dark  as  shape  of  Destinie. 

Hark  I a shriek  ascends,  appalling, — 

Down  the  prelate  goes — dead — falling  ! 

“ A furore  Nonnanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ’’ 

Hastings  lives  ! He  was  but  feigning  I 
What  ! Depentant  ? Never  he  ! 

Down  he  smites  the  priests  and  friars. 

And  the  city  lights  with  fires  ! 

“ A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! 

Ah  I the  children  and  the  maidens, 

’Tis  in  vain  they  strive  to  flee ! 

Where  the  white-haired  priests  lie  bleeding, 
Is  no  place  for  woman’s  pleading. 

“ A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ” 

Louder  swells  the  frightful  tumult — 

Pallid  Death  holds  revelrie  ! 

Dies  the  organ’s  mighty  clamor, 

By  the  horseman’s  iron  hammer  ! 

“ A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ” 

So  they  thought  that  he’d  repented  I 
Had  they  nailed  him  to  the  tree, 


170 


IV JR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


He  had  not  deserved  their  pity, 

And  they  had  not — lost  their  city. 

A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! 

For  the  moral  in  this  story, 

Which  is  plain  as  truth  can  be : 

If  we  trust  the  North’s  relentiug, 

We  shall  shriek — too  late  repenting — ■ 
‘‘  A furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0 Domine  ! ” 


MY  COUNTRY. 

By  W.  D.  Porter,  of  South  Carolina. 

READ  the  stories  of  the  great  and  free, 

The  nations  on  the  long,  bright  roll  of  fame, 

Whose  noble  rage  has  baffled  the  decree 

Of  tyrants  to  despoil  their  life  and  name  ; 

Whose  swords  have  flashed  like  lightning  in  the  eyes 
Of  robber  despots,  glorying  in  their  might. 

And  taught  the  world,  by  deeds  of  high  emprise, 

The  power  of  truth  and  sacredness  of  right : 

Whose  people,  strong  to  suffer  and  endure. 

In  faitli  have  wrestled  till  the  blessing  came. 

And  won  through  woes  a victory  doubly  sure. 

As  martyr  wins  his  crown  through  blood  and  flame. 

The  purest  virtue  has  been  sorest  tried, 

Nor  is  there  glory  without  patient  toil ; 

And  he  who  woes  fair  Freedom  for  his  bride, 

Through  suffering  must  be  purged  of  stain  and  soil. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


171 


My  country  ! in  this  hour  of  trial  sore, 

When  in  the  balance  trembling  hangs  thy  fate, 
Brace  thy  great  heart  with  courage  to  the  core, 

Not  let  one  jot  of  faith  or  hope  abate  1 

The  world’s  bright  eye  is  fixed  upon  thee  still ; 

Life,  honor,  fame — these  all  are  in  the  scale ; 
Endure  I endure  ! endure  I with  iron  will. 

And  by  the  truth  of  heaven,  thou  shalt  not  fail. 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

By  Miss  Agnes  Leonard. 

day  long  the  sun  had  wandered. 

Through  the  slowly  creeping  hours, 

And  at  last  the  stars  were  shining 
Like  some  golden-petaled  flowers 
Scattered  o’er  the  azure  bosom 
Of  the  glory-haunted  night. 

Flooding  all  the  sky  with  grandeur. 

Filling  all  the  earth  with  light. 

And  the  fair  moon,  with  the  sweet  stars. 
Gleamed  amid  the  radiant  spheres 
Like  “ a pearl  of  great  price  ” shining 
Just  as  it  had  shone  for  years. 

On  the  young  land  that  had  risen. 

In  her  beauty  and  her  might. 

Like  some  gorgeous  superstructure 
Woven  in  the  dreams  of  night ; 

With  her  “cities  hung  like  jewels  ” 

On  her  green  and  peaceful  breast. 

With  her  harvest  fields  of  plenty. 

And  her  quiet  homes  of  rest. 


172 


WAT?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  a change  had  fallen  sadly 

O’er  the  young  and  beauteous  land, 

Brothers  on  the  field  fought  madly 

That  once  wandered  hand  in  hand. 

And  “ the  hearts  of  distant  mountains 
Shuddered,”  with  a fearful  wonder, 
As  the  echoes  burst  upon  them 
Of  the  canon’s  awful  thunder. 
Through  the  long  hours  waged  the  battle 
Till  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

Dropped  a seal  upon  the  record. 

That  the  day’s  mad  work  was  done. 

Thickly  on  the  trampled  grasses 
Lay  the  battle’s  awful  traces, 

’Mid  the  blood-stained  clover  blossoms 
Lay  the  stark  and  ghastly  faces. 

With  no  mourners  bending  downward 
O’er  a costly  funeral  pall ; 

And  the  dying  daylight  softly. 

With  the  starlight  watched  o’er  all. 

And,  where  eager,  joyous  footsteps 

Once  perchance  were  wont  to  pass. 
Ban  a little  streamlet  making 

One  Blue  fold  in  the  dark  grass ; ” 
And  where,  from  its  hidden  fountain, 
Clear  and  bright  the  brooklet  burst 
Two  had  crawled,  and  each  was  bending 
O’er  to  slake  his  burning  thirst. 

Then  beneath  the  solemn  starlight 
Of  the  radiant  jewelled  skies, 

Both  had  turned,  and  were  intently 
Gazing  in  each  other’s  eyes. 


STATUE  TO  HENRY  CLAY 

This  beautiful  marble  statue  to  Henry  Clay  was  erected  in  the  Capitol 
Square,  Richmond,  Virginia,  by  the  Radies’  Clay  Association,  and 
dedicated  on  Clay’s  Eighty-third  Anniversary,  April  12,  i860. 


IVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


173 


Both  were  solemnly  forgiving — 

Hushed  the  pulse  of  passion’s  breath — 
Calmed  the  maddening  thirst  for  battle, 

By  the  chilling  hand  of  death, 

Then  spoke  one  in  bitter  anguish  : 

“ God  have  pity  on  my  wife, 

And  my  children,  in  New  Hampshire  ; 

Orphans  by  this  cruel  strife.” 

And  the  other,  leaning  closer. 
Underneath  the  solemn  sky. 
Bowed  his  head  to  hide  the  moisture 
Gathering  in  his  downcast  eye  : 

I’ve  a wife  and  little  daughter, 

’Mid  the  fragrant  Georgia  bloom,” — 

Then  his  cry  rang  sharper,  wilder, 

“ Oh,  God  ! pity  all  their  gloom.” 

And  the  wounded,  in  their  death-hour. 

Talking  of  the  loved  ones’  woes. 

Nearer  drew  unto  each  other, 

Till  they  were  no  longer  foes. 

And  the  Georgian  listened  sadly 
As  the  other  tried  to  speak, 

While  the  tears  were  dropping  softly 
O’er  the  pallor  of  his  cheek  : 

How  she  used  to  stand  and  listen. 
Looking  o’er  the  fields  for  me. 
Waiting  till  she  saw  me  coming, 

’Neath  the  shadowy  old  plum-tree. 
Never  more  I’ll  hear  her  laughter. 

As  she  sees  me  at  the  gate. 

And  beneath  the  plum-tree’s  shadows 
All  in  vain  for  me  she’ll  wait.” 


174 


^VAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Then  the  Georgian,  speaking  softly, 

Said  : ‘‘  A brown-eyed  little  one 
Used  to  wait  among  the  roses. 

For  me,  wUen  the  day  was  done  ; 

And  amid  the  early  fragrance 

Of  those  blossoms,  fresh  and  sweet, 

Up  and  down  the  old  verandah 

I would  chase  my  darling’s  feet. 

But  on  earth  no  more  the  beauty 
Of  her  face  my  eye  shall  greet, 

Nevermore  I’ll  hear  the  music 

Of  those  merry,  pattering  feet — 

Ah,  the  solemn  starlight,  falling 
On  the  far-off  Georgia  bloom. 

Tells  no  tale  unto  my  darling 

Of  her  absent  father’s  doom.” 

Through  the  tears  that  rose  between  them 
Both  were  trying  grief  to  smother. 

An  they  clasped  each  other’s  fingers 

Whispering  : ‘‘  Let’s  forgive  each  other.” 

When  the  morning  sun  was  walking 
“ Up  the  gray  stairs  of  the  dawn,” 

And  the  crimson  east  was  flushing 
All  the  forehead  of  the  morn. 

Pitying  skies  were  looking  sadly 

On  the  “ once  proud,  happy  land,” 

On  the  Southron  and  the  Northman, 

Holding  fast  each  other’s  hand. 

Fatherless  the  golden  tresses. 

Watching  ’neath  the  old  plum-tree  * 

Fatherless  the  little  Georgian, 

Sporting  in  unconscious  glee. 


IV A SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


175 


SONG  OF  THE  TEXAS  RANGERS. 


Air — “The  Yellow  Eose  of  Texas.’’ 


The  name  of  Wharton  occurring  in  this  poem  recalls  an  interesting  in- 
cident of  a few  years  ago.  I was  engaged  in  conducting  an  evangelistic 
service  in  a little  town  in  Texas.  The  founder  of  that  town,  Captain  Kyle, 
came  out  to  the  meetings  and  was  converted.  His  confession  of  faith  was 
unique.  He  said,  pointing  to  me  : “ I followed  this  man’s  cousin  in  many 
a hard-fought  battle,  and  now  I propose  to  follow  his  commander,  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  for  the  balance  of  my  days.” 


^HE  morning  star  is  paling 


The  camp-fires  flicker  low, 

Our  steeds  are  madly  neighing, 

For  the  bugle  bids  us  go, 

So  put  the  foot  in  stirrup, 

And  shake  the  bridle  free. 

For  to-day  the  Texas  Rangers 
Must  cross  the  Tennessee. 

With  Wharton  for  our  leader. 
We’ll  chase  the  dastard  foe. 
Till  our  horses  bathe  their  fetlocks 


In  the  deep  blue  Ohio. 


Our  men  are  from  the  prairies, 

That  roll  broad  and  proud  and  free, 
From  the  high  and  craggy  mountains 
To  the  murmuring  Mexic’  sea  ; 

And  their  hearts  are  open  as  their  plains. 
Their  thoughts  as  proudly  brave 
As  the  bold  cliffs  of  the  San  Bernard, 

Or  the  Gulfs  resistless  wave. 

Then  quick  1 into  the  saddle. 

And  shake  the  bridle  free. 
To-day  with  gallant  Wharton, 


We  cross  the  Tennessee. 


176 


iVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


’Tis  joy  to  be  a Ranger ! 

To  fight  for  dear  Southland  ; 

’Tis  joy  to  follow  Wharton, 

With  his  gallant,  trusty  band  I 
’Tis  joy  to  see  our  Harrison, 

Plunge  like  a meteor  bright 
Into  the  thickest  of  the  fray. 

And  deal  his  deathly  might. 

Oh  ! who’d  not  be  a Ranger, 

And  follow  Wharton’s  cry  ! 

To  battle  for  his  country — 

And,  if  needs  be — die  ! 

By  the  Colorado’s  waters. 

On  the  Gulf’s  deep  murmuring  shore, 
On  our  soft  green  peaceful  prairies 

Are  the  homes  we  may  see  no  more ; 
But  in  those  homes  our  gently  wives. 

And  mothers  with  silv’ry  hairs 
Are  loving  us  with  tender  hearts. 

And  shielding  us  with  prayers. 

So,  trusting  in  our  country’s  God. 

We  draw  our  stout,  good  brand. 
For  those  we  love  at  home. 

Our  altars  and  our  land. 

Up,  up  with  the  crimson  battle-flag — 

Let  the  blue  pennon  fly  ; 

Our  steeds  are  stamping  proudly — 

They  hear  the  battle-cry  1 
The  thundering  bomb,  the  bugle’s  call, 

Proclaim  the  foe  is  near  ; 

We  strike  for  God  and  native  land, 

And  all  we  hold  most  dear. 

Then  spring  into  the  saddle. 

And  shake  the  bridle  free — 

For  Wharton  leads,  through  fire  and  blood. 

For  Home  and  Victory  ! 


tVA/^  SOAGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


177 


THE  GUERRILLA  MARTYRS. 

to  the  doom — the  scaffold  and  the  chain, — 

To  all  your  cruel  tortures,  bear  them  on. 

Ye  foul  and  coward  hangmen ; — but  in  vain  ! — 

Ye  cannot  touch  the  glory  they  have  won — 

And  win — thus  yielding  up  the  martyr’s  breath 

For  freedom  ! — Theirs  is  a triumphant  death  ! — 
A sacred  pledge  from  Nature,  that  her  womb 

Still  keeps  some  sacred  fires ; that  yet  shall  burst. 
Even  from  the  reeking  ravage  of  their  doom, 

As  glorious — ay,  more  glorious — than  the  first  1 
Exult,  shout,  triumph  ! Wretches,  do  your  worst ! 

’Tis  for  a season  only  ! There  shall  come 
An  hour  when  ye  shall  feel  yourtelves  accurst ; 

When  the  dread  vengeance  of  a century 
Shall  reap  its  harvest  in  a single  day  ; 

And  ye  shall  howl  in  horror; — and,  to  die. 

Shall  be  escape  and  refuge  ! Ye  may  slay ; — 

But  to  be  cruel  and  brutal,  does  not  make 
Ye  conquerors  ; and  the  vulture  yet  shall  prey 

On  living  hearts  ; and  vengeance  fiercely  slake 
The  unappeasable  appetite  ye  wake. 

In  the  hot  blood  of  victims,  that  have  been. 

Most  eager,  binding  freemen  to  the  stake, — 

Most  greedy  in  the  orgies  of  this  sin  ! 

Ye  slaughter, — do  ye  triumph  ? Ask  your  chains, 

Ye  Sodom-hearted  butchers  ! — turn  your  eyes, 
Where  reeks  yon  bloody  scaffold  ; and  the  pains. 
Ungroaned,  of  a true  martyr,  ere  he  dies, 

Attest  the  damned  folly  of  your  crime. 

Now  at  its  carnival  ! His  spirit  flies. 

Unscathed  by  all  your  fires,  through  every  clime. 

Into  the  world’s  wide  bosom.  Thousands  rise, 


12 


178 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Prompt  at  its  call,  and  principled  to  strike 
The  tyrants  and  the  tyrannies  alike ! — 

Voices,  that  doom  ye,  speak  in  all  your  deeds, 

And  cry  to  heaven,  arm  earth,  and  kindle  hell  1 
A host  of  freemen,  where  one  martyr  bleeds, 

Spring  from  his  place  of  doom,  and  make  his  knell 
The  tocsin,  to  arouse  a myriad  race, 

T’  avenge  Humanity’s  wrong,  and  wipe  off  man’s  disgrace ! 

We  mourn  not  for  our  martyrs  ! — for  they  perish. 

As  the  good  perish,  for  a deathless  faith  : 

Their  glorious  memories  men  will  fondly  cherish. 

In  terms  and  signs  that  shall  ennoble  death ! 

Their  blood  becomes  a principle,  to  guide, 

Onward,  forever  onward,  in  proud  flow. 

Restless,  resistless,  as  the  ocean  tide. 

The  Spirit  heaven  yields  freedom  here  below  1 
How  should  we  mourn  the  martyrs,  who  arise, 

Even  from  the  stake  and  scaffold,  to  the  skies 
And  take  their  thrones,  as  stars  ; and  o’er  the  night. 

Shed  a new  glory  ; and  to  other  souls. 

Shine  out  with  blessed  guidance,  and  true  light, 

Which  leads  successive  races  to  their  goal  1 


IN  MEMORIAM 

Of  our  Right-Reverend  Father  in  God,  Leonidas  Polk,  Lieutenant-General 
Confederate  States  Army. 

JpEACE,  troubled  soul  ! The  strife  is  done. 

This  life’s  flerce  conflicts  and  its  woes  are  ended  : 
There  is  no  more — eternity  begun. 

Faith  merged  in  sight — hope  with  fruition  blended. 
Peace,  troubled  soul  I 


PFA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


179 


The  warrior  rests  upon  his  bier, 

Within  his  coffin  calmly  sleeping. 

His  requiem  the  cannon  peals, 

And  heroes  of  a hundred  fields 

Their  last  sad  watch  are  round  him  keeping. 

Joy,  sainted  soul ! Within  the  vale 

Of  Heaven’s  great  temple,  is  thy  blissful  dwelling  ; 

Bathed  in  a light,  to  which  the  sun  is  pale, 

Archangels’  hymns  in  endless  transports  swelling. 
Joy,  sainted  soul  ! 

Back  to  her  altar  which  he  served, 

The  Holy  Church  her  child  is  bringing. 

The  organ’s  wail  then  dies  away. 

And  kneeling  priests  around  him  pray, 

As  De  Profundis  they  are  singing. 

Bring  all  the  trophies  that  are  owed. 

To  him  at  once  so  great,  so  good. 

His  Bible  and  his  well-used  sword — 

His  snowy  lawn  not  “ stained  with  blood  I ” 

No  ! pure  as  when  before  his  God, 

He  laid  its  spotless  folds  aside, 

War’s  path  of  awful  duty  trod, 

And  on  his  country’s  altar  died  I 

Oh  I Warrior-bishop,  Church  and  State 
Sustain  in  thee  an  equal  loss ; 

But  who  would  call  thee  from  thy  weight 
Of  glory,  back  to  bear  life’s  cross  ! 

The  Faith  was  kept — thy  course  was  run. 

Thy  good  fight  finished  ; hence  the  word, 

Well  done,  oh  ! faithful  child,  well  done, 

Taste  thou  the  mercies  of  thy  Lord  I ” 


180 


WAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


No  dull  decay  nor  lingering  pain, 

By  slow  degrees,  consumed  thy  health, 
A glowing  messenger  of  flame 

Translated  thee  by  fiery  death  I 
And  we  who  in  one  common  grief 

Are  bending  now  beneath  the  rod, 

In  this  sweet  thought  may  find  relief, 

“ Our  holy  father  walked  with  God, 
And  is  not — God  has  taken  him  ! 


LET  US  CROSS  OVER  THE  RIVER.” 


Jackson’s  Last  Words. 


“ A few  moments  before  his  death,  Stonewall  Jackson  called  out  in  his 
delirium  : ‘ Order  A.  P.  Hill  to  prepare  for  action.  Pass  the  infantry  rapidly 
to  the  front.  Tell  Major  Hawks ’ Here  the  sentence  was  left  unfin- 

ished. But,  soon  after,  a sweet  smile  overspread  his  face,  and  he  mur- 
mured quietly,  with  an  air  of  relief:  ‘ Let  us  cross  over  the  river  and  rest 
under  the  shade  of  the  trees.’  These  were  his  last  words;  and,  without 
any  expression  of  pain,  or  sign  of  struggle,  his  spirit  passed  away.” 


/^OME,  let  us  cross  the  river,  and  rest  beneath  the  trees. 

And  list  the  merry  leaflets  at  sport  with  every  breeze ; 
Our  rest  is  won  by  fighting,  and  Peace  awaits  us  there. 
Strange  that  a cause  so  blighting  produces  fruit  so  fair ! 


Come,  let  us  cross  the  river,  those  that  have  gone  before. 
Crushed  in  the  strife  for  freedom,  await  on  yonder  shore ; 
So  bright  the  sunshine  sparkles,  so  merry  hums  the  breeze, 
Come,  let  us  cross  the  river,  and  rest  beneath  the  trees. 

Come,  let  us  cross  the  river,  the  stream  that  runs  so  dark ; 
’Tis  none  but  cowards  quiver,  so  let  us  all  embark. 

Come,  men  with  hearts  undaunted,  we’ll  stem  the  tide  with 

[ease, 

We’ll  cross  the  flowing  river,  and  rest  beneath  the  trees. 


SOLDIERS’  MONUMENT  AT  NEW  ORLEANS,  LOUISIANA 


■< 


. •*  -I 

.*■<  1^.VV 
: ><1 


■'vv^TS^ 


lVAI^  SOA^GS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


181 


Come,  let  us  cross  the  river,  the  dying  hero  cried, 

And  God,  of  life  the  giver,  then  bore  him  o’er  the  tide. 
Life’s  wars  for  him  are  over,  the  warrior  takes  his  ease, 
There,  by  the  flowing  river,  at  rest  beneath  the  trees. 


CHARGE  OF  HAGOOD’S  BRIGADE. 

By  Joseph  Blyth  Allston. 

The  following  lines  were  written  in  the  summer  of  1864,  immediately 
after  the  charge  referred  to  in  them,  which  was  always  considered  by  the 
brigade  as  their  most  desperate  encounter. 

^CARCE  seven  hundred  men  they  stand 
In  tattered,  rude  array, 

A remnant  of  that  gallant  band, 

Who  erstwhile  held  the  sea-girt  strand 
Of  Morris’  Isle,  with  iron  hand 

’Gainst  Yankees’  hated  sway. 

Secessionville  their  banner  claims. 

And  Sumter  held  ’mid  smoke  and  flames 
And  the  dark  battle  on  the  streams 
Of  Pocotaligo  ; 

And  Walthall’s  Junction’s  hard-earned  flght. 
And  Drewry’s  bluff’s  embattled  height, 

Whence,  at  the  gray  dawn  of  the  light. 

They  rushed  upon  the  foe. 

Tattered  and  torn  those  banners  now. 

But  not  less  proud  each  lofty  brow. 

Untaught  as  yet  to  yield  ; 

With  mien  unblenched,  unfaltering  eye. 

Forward,  where  bombshells  shrieking  fly 
Flecking  with  smoke  the  azure  sky 
On  Weldon’s  fated  fleld. 


182 


JVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Sweeps  from  the  woods  the  bold  array, 

Not  theirs  to  falter  in  the  fray, 

No  men  more  sternly  trained  than  they 
To  meet  their  deadly  doom  ; 

While  from  a hundred  throats  agape, 

A hundred  sulphurous  flames  escape, 

Round  shot,  and  canister,  and  grape. 

The  thundering  cannon’s  boom  I 

Swift,  on  their  flank,  with  fearful  crash 
Shrapnel  and  ball  commingling  clash, 

And  bursting  shells,  with  lurid  flash. 

Their  dazzled  sight  confound  ; 
Trembles  the  earth  beneath  their  feet. 
Along  their  fj'ont  a rattling  sheet 
Of  leaden  hail  concentric  meet, 

And  numbers  strew  the  ground. 

On,  o’er  the  dying  and  the  dead, 

O’er  mangled  limb  and  gory  head. 

With  martial  look,  with  martial  tread, 

March  Hagood’s  men  to  bloody  bed. 

Honor  their  sole  reward  ; 

Himself  doth  lead  the  battle  line, 

Himself  those  banners  guard. 

They  win  the  height,  those  gallant  few, 

A fiercer  struggle  to  renew. 

Resolved  as  gallant  men  to  do 

Or  sink  in  glory’s  shroud  ; 

But  scarcely  gain  its  stubborn  crest. 

Ere,  from  the  ensign’s  murdered  breast. 

An  impious  foe  has  dared  to  wrest 
That  banner  proud. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


183 


Upon  him,  Hagood,  in  thy  might  I 
Flash  on  thy  soul  th’  immortal  light 
Of  those  brave  deeds  that  blazon  bright 
Our  Southern  Cross. 

He  dies.  Unfurl  its  folds  again, 

Let  it  wave  proudly  o’er  the  plain ; 

The  dying  shall  forget  their  pain, 

Count  not  their  loss. 

Then,  rallying  to  your  chieftain’s  call. 
Ploughed  through  by  cannon-shot  and  ball, 
Hemmed  in,  as  by  a living  wall. 

Cleave  back  your  way, 

Those  bannered  deeds  their  souls  inspire, 
Borne  amid  sheets  of  forked  fire. 

By  the  Two  Hundred  who  retire 
Of  that  array. 

Ah,  Carolina  I well  the  tear 

May  dew  thy  cheek  ; thy  clasped  hands  rear 

In  passion  o’er  their  tombless  bier. 

Thy  fallen  chivalry  I 
Malony,  mirror  of  the  brave, 

And  Sellers  lie  in  glorious  grave ; 

No  prouder  fate  than  theirs,  who  gave 
Their  lives  for  Liberty. 


MUMFOED,  THE  MARTYR  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

By  Ina  M.  Porter,  of  Alabama. 

here  murdered  Mumford  lies. 

Bewailed  in  bitter  sighs. 

Low-bowed  beneath  the  flag  he  loved, 

Martyrs  of  Liberty, 


184 


lVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Defenders  of  the  F ree  ! 

Come,  humbly  nigh, 

And  learn  to  die  ! 

Ah,  Freedom,  on  that  day, 

Turned  fearfully  away. 

While  pitying  angels  lingered  near, 

To  gaze  upon  the  sod. 

Red  with  a martyr’s  blood  ; 

And  woman’s  tear 
Fell  on  his  bier  ! 

0 God  1 that  he  should  die 
Beneath  a Southern  sky  ! 

Upon  a felon’s  gallows  swung. 

Murdered  by  tyrant  hand, — 

While  round  a helpless  band. 

On  Butler’s  name 
Poured  scorn  and  shame. 

But  hark  ! loud  pseans  fly 
From  earth  to  vaulted  sky. 

He’s  crowned  at  Freedom’s  holy  throne  1 
List ! sweet-voiced  Israel 
Tolls  far  the  martyr’s  knell ! 

Shout,  Southrons,  high. 

Our  battle  cry  ! 

Come,  all  of  Southern  blood. 

Come,  kneel  to  F reedom’s  God  ! 

Here  at  her  crimsoned  altar  swear  ! 

Accursed  for  evermore 
The  flag  that  Mumford  tore, 

And  o’er  his  grave 
Our  colors  wave ! 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


185 


THE  COTTON-BURNERS’  HYMN. 

“ On  yesterday,  all  the  cotton  in  Memphis,  and  throughout  the  coun- 
try, was  burned.  Probably  not  less  than  300,000  bales  have  been  burned 
in  the  last  three  days,  in  West  Tennessee  and  North  Mississippi.” — Mem' 
phis  Appeal. 

T o ! where  Mississippi  rolls 
^ Oceanward  its  stream, 

Upward  mounting,  folds  on  folds. 

Flaming  fire-tongues  gleam  ; 

’Tis  the  planters’  grand  oblation 
On  the  altar  of  the  nation  ; 

’Tis  a willing  sacrifice — 

Let  the  golden  incense  rise — 

Pile  the  cotton  to  the  skies  ! 

Chorus — Lo  ! the  sacrificial  flame 

/ 

Gilds  the  starry  dome  of  night ! 
Nations  I read  the  mute  acclaim — 

’Tis  for  liberty  we  fight ! 

Home  I Religion  ! Right  I 

Never  such  a golden  light 
Lit  the  vaulted  sky  ; 

Never  sacrifice  as  bright. 

Rose  to  God  on  high  ; 

Thousands  oxen,  what  were  they 
To  the  offering  we  pay? 

And  the  brilliant  holocaust — 

When  the  revolution’s  past — 

In  the  nation’s  songs  will  last ! 

Chorus — Lo  I the  sacrificial  flame,  etc. 

Though  the  night  be  dark  above. 

Broken  though  the  shield — 

Those  who  love  us,  those  we  love, 

Bid  us  never  yield  ; 


186 


WAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Never  I though  our  bravest  bleed, 

And  the  vultures  on  them  feed, 

Never  ! though  the  serpents’  race — 

Hissing  hate  and  vile  disgrace — 

By  the  million  should  menace  ! 

Chorus — Lo  ! the  sacrificial  flame,  etc. 

Pile  the  cotton  to  the  skies ; 

Lo  ! the  Northmen  gaze  ; 

England  ! see  our  sacrifice — 

See  the  cotton  blaze  ! 

God  of  nations  ! now  to  Thee, 

Southrons  bend  th’  imploring  knee  ; 

’Tis  our  country’s  hour  of  need — 

Hear  the  mothers  intercede — 

Hear  the  little  children  plead  ! 

Chorus — Lo  ! the  sacrificial  flame,  etc. 


ASHES  OF  GLORY. 

By  a.  J.  Requier. 

Jp'OLD  up  the  gorgeous  silken  sun, 

By  bleeding  martyrs  blest, 

And  heap  the  laurels  it  has  won 
Above  its  place  of  rest. 

No  trumpet’s  note  need  harshly  blare — 
No  drum  funereal  roll — 

Nor  trailing  sables  drape  the  bier 
That  frees  a dauntless  soul  1 

It  lived  with  I^ee,  and  decked  his  brow 
From  Fate’s  empyreal  Palm  ; 

It  sleeps  the  sleep  of  Jackson  now — 

As  spotless  and  as  calm. 


WAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


187 


It  was  outnumbered— not  outdone, 

And  they  shall  shuddering  tell, 

Who  struck  the  blow,  its  latest  gun 
Flashed  ruin  as  it  fell. 

Sleep,  shrouded  Ensign  I not  the  breeze 
That  smote  the  victor  tar. 

With  death  across  the  heaving  seas 
Of  fiery  Trafalgar; 

Not  Arthur’s  knights,  amid  the  gloom 
Their  knightly  deeds  have  starred ; 

Nor  Gallic  Henry’s  matchless  plume. 

Nor  peerless-born  Bayard  ; 

Not  all  that  antique  fables  feign. 

And  Orient  dreams  disgorge; 

Nor  yet  the  Silver  Cross  of  Spain, 

And  Lion  of  St.  George, 

Can  bid  thee  pale  I Proud  emblem,  still 
Thy  crimson  glory  shines 

Beyond  the  lengthened  shades  that  fill 
Their  proudest  kingly  lines. 

Sleep ! in  thine  own  historic  night, — 
And  by  thy  blazoned  scroll, 

A warrior's  Banner  takes  its  flight, 

To  greet  the  warrior's  soul ! 


188 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


SOMEBODY’S  DARLING. 

By  Marie  La  Coste,  of  Georgia. 

T NTo  a ward  of  the  whitewashed  halls, 

Where  the  dead  and  the  dying  lay — 
Wounded  by  bayonets,  shells  and  balls. 

Somebody’s  darling  was  borne  one  day — 
Somebody’s  darling,  so  young  and  so  brave  I 
Wearing  yet  on  his  sweet,  pale  face — 

Soon  to  be  hid  in  tfie  dust  of  the  grave — 

The  lingering  light  of  his  boyhood’s  grace  I 

Matted  and  damp  are  the  curls  of  gold 

Kissing  the  snow  of  that  fair  young  brow, 
Pale  are  the  lips  of  delicate  mould — 
Somebody’s  darling  is  dying  now. 

Back  from  his  beautiful  blue-veined  brow 
Brush  his  wandering  waves  of  gold ; 

Cross  his  hands  on  his  bosom  now — 

Somebody’s  darling  is  still  and  cold. 

Kiss  him  once  for  somebody’s  sake. 

Murmur  a prayer  soft  and  low — 

One  bright  curl  from  its  fair  mates  take — 

They  were  somebody’s  pride  you  know, 
Somebody’s  hand  hath  rested  there  ; 

Was  it  a mother’s,  soft  and  white? 

Or  have  the  lips  of  a sister  fair 

Been  baptized  in  their  waves  of  light  ? 

God  knows  best  I He  has  somebody’s  love ; 

Somebody’s  heart  enshrined  him  there — 
Somebody  wafted  his  name  above. 

Night  and  morn,  on  the  wings  of  prayer. 
Somebody  wept  when  he  marched  away, 

Looking  so  handsome,  brave  and  grand  I 
Somebody’s  kiss  on  his  forehead  lay — , 
Somebody  clung  to  his  parting  hand. 


LIEUTENANT-GENERAL  LEONIDAS  POLK 


WAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


189 


Somebody’s  watching  and  waiting  for  him, 

Yearning  to  hold  him  again  to  her  heart ; 
And  there  he  lies  with  his  blue  eyes  dim, 

And  the  smiling,  child-like  lips  apart. 
Tenderly  bury  the  fair  young  dead — 

Pausing  to  drop  on  his  grave  a tear ; 

Carve  on  the  wooden  slab  o’er  his  head — 
Somebody’s  darling  slumbers  here.” 


AWAKE— ARISE ! 

By  G.  W.  Archer,  M.  D. 

Q^ons  of  the  South — awake — arise  I 
^ A million  foes  sweep  down  amain, 

Fierce  hatred  gleaming  in  their  eyes. 

And  fire  and  rapine  in  their  train, 

Like  savage  Hun  and  merciless  Dane  ! 

We  come  as  brothers  I ” Trust  them  not  I 
By  all  that’s  dear  in  heaven  and  earth, 

By  every  tie  that  hath  its  birth 
Within  your  homes — around  your  hearth  ; 
Believe  me,  ’tis  a tyrant’s  plot, 

Worse  for  the  fair  and  sleek  disguise — > 

A traitor  in  a patriot’s  cloak  ! 

“ Your  country’s  good 
Demands  your  blood  I ” 

Was  it  a fiend  from  hell  that  spoke? 

They  point  us  to  the  Stripes  and  Stars ; 

(Our  banner  erst — the  despot’s  now  1) 

But  let  not  thoughts  of  by-gone  wars. 

When  beat  we  back  the  common  foe. 

And  felled  them  fast  and  shamed  them  so, 
Divided  us  at  this  fearful  hour  ; 

But  think  of  dungeons  and  of  chains — 
Think  of  youv  violated  fanes — 

Of  your  loved  homestead’s  gory  stains — 


190 


JVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Eternal  thraldom  for  your  dower ! 

No  love  of  country  fires  their  breasts — 

The  fell  fanatics  fain  would  free 
A groveling  race, 

And  in  their  place 
Would  fetter  us  with  fiendish  glee  I 

Sons  of  the  South — awake — awake  I 

And  strike  for  rights  full  dear  as  those 
For  which  our  struggling  sires  did  shake 
Earth’s  proudest  throne — while  freedom  rose, 
Baptized  in  blood  of  braggart  foes. 

Awake — that  hour  hath  come  again  ! 

Strike  I as  ye  look  to  Heaven’s  high  throne — 
Strike  ! for  the  Christian  patriot’s  crown — 
Strike  ! in  the  name  of  Washington, 

Who  taught  you  once  to  rend  the  chain. 

Smiles  now  from  Heaven  upon  our  cause, 

So  like  his  own.  His  spirit  moves 
Through  every  fight. 

And  lends  its  might 
To  every  heart  that  freedom  loves. 

Ye  beauteous  of  the  sunny  land  ! 

Unmatched  your  charms  in  all  the  earth, 
’Neath  freedom’s  banner  take  your  stand  ; 

And,  though  you  strike  not,  prove  your  worth. 
As  wont  in  days  of  joy  and  mirth  ; 

Lavish  your  praises  on  the  brave — 

Pray  when  the  battle  fiercely  lowers — 

Smile  when  the  victory  is  ours — 

Frown  on  the  wretch  who  basely  cowers — 
Mourn  o’er  each  fallen  hero’s  grave  1 

Lend  thus  your  favors  whilst  we  smile  ; 

Full  soon  we’ll  crush  this  vandal  host ! — 

Mhtli  woman’s  charms 
To  nerve  their  arms. 

Oh  I when  have  men  their  freedom  lost  I 


JVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


19J 


THE  TEXAN  MARSEILLAISE. 

By  James  Haines,  of  Texas. 

^ONS  of  the  South,  arouse  to  battle  ! 

Gird  on  your  armor  for  the  fight ! 

The  Northern  Thugs  with  dread  ‘‘War’s  rattle,” 
Pour  on  each  vale,  and  glen,  and  height ; 
Meet  them  as  ocean  meets  in  madness 
The  frail  bark  on  the  rocky  shore. 

When  crested  billows  foam  and  roar, 

And  the  wrecked  crew  go  down  in  sadness. 

Arm  ! Arm  ! ye  Southern  braves  ! 

Scatter  yon  Vandal  hordes  I 
Despots  and  bandits,  fitting  food 
For  vultures  and  your  swords. 

Shall  dastard  tyrants  march  their  legions 
To  crush  the  land  of  Jackson — Lee  ? 

Shall  freedom  fly  to  other  regions, 

And  sons  of  Yorktown  bend  the  knee? 

Or  shall  their  “ footprints  ’ base  pollution  ” 

Of  Southern  soil,  in  blood  be  purged. 

And  every  flying  slave  be  scourged 
Back  to  his  snows  in  wild  confusion  ? 

Arm  1 Arm  ! Ac. 

Vile  despots,  with  their  minions  knavish, 

Would  drag  us  back  to  their  embrace ; 

Will  freemen  brook  a chain  so  slavish  ? 

Will  brave  men  take  so  low  a place? 

O,  Heaven  ! for  words — the  loathing,  scorning 
We  feel  for  such  a Lhiion’s  binds  ; 

To  paint  with  more  than  mortal  hands. 

And  sound  our  loudest  notes  of  warning. 

Arm  I Arm  ! Ac. 


192 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


What  I union  with  a race  ignoring 
The  charter  of  our  nation’s  birth  I 
Union  with  bastard  slaves  adoring 

The  fiend  that  chains  them  to  the  earth  I 
No  ! we  reply  in  tones  of  thunder — 

No  ! our  staunch  hills  fling  back  the  sound — 
No  I our  hoarse  canon  echo  round — 

No  ! evermore  remain  asunder  I 
Arm  ! Arm  I (fee. 


“MY  MARYLAND.” 

Written  at  Pointe  Coupee,  La.,  April  26,  1861 
By  James  R.  Randael. 

This  was  one  of  the  most  popular  songs  of  the  war.  It  was  believed  for 
a long  time  that  Maryland  would  secede  from  the  Union,  so  strong  was  the 
sympathy  for  the  Southern  cause.  But  though  she  did  not  withdraw  from 
the  Union,  some  of  the  very  best  troops  in  the  Confederate  Army  were 
from  that  State.  This  song  is  a fine  specimen  of  poetry,  and  breathes  as 
well  the  spirit  of  true  patriotism. 

despot’s  heel  is  on  thy  shore, 

Maryland  ! 

His  torch  is  at  thy  temple  door, 

Maryland  I 

Avenge  the  patriotic  gore 

That  flecked  the  streets  of  Baltimore, 

And  be  the  battle-queen  of  yore, 

Maryland  ! My  Maryland  I 

Hark,  to  an  exiled  son’s  appeal, 

Maryland ! 

My  Mother-State,  to  thee  I kneel, 

Maryland  ! 

For  life  and  death,  for  woe  and  weal, 

Thy  peerless  chivalry  reveal. 

And  gird  thy  beauteous  limbs  with  steel ! 

Maryland  ! My  Maryland  I 


IV A SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


198 


Thou  wilt  not  cower  in  the  dust, 

Maryland  I 

Thy  beaming  sword  shall  never  rust, 

Maryland  I 

Remember  Carroll’s  sacred  trust. 

Remember  Howard’s  warlike  thrust. 

And  all  thy  slumberers  with  the  just, 

Maryland  ! My  Maryland  ! 

Come  ! ’tis  the  red  dawn  of  the  day, 

Maryland  ! 

Come  I with  thy  panoplied  array, 

Maryland  ! 

With  Ringgold’s  spirit  for  the  fray. 

With  Watson’s  blood  at  Monterey, 

With  fearless  Lowe  and  dashing  May, 

Maryland  I My  Maryland  ! 

Come  I for  thy  shield  is  bright  and  strong, 

Maryland  ! 

Come  ! for  thy  dalliance  does  thee  wrong, 

Maryland  I 

Come  ! to  .thine  own  heroic  throng. 

Stalking  with  Liberty  along, 

And  (‘haunt  thy  dauntless  slogan-song, 

Maryland  ! My  Maryland  ! 

Dear  Mother  1 burst  the  tyrant  chain, 

Maryland  ! 

Virginia  should  not  call  in  vain, 

Maryland  ! 

She  meets  her  sisters  on  the  plain — 

‘‘  Sic  semper’’  ’tis  the  proud  refrain 
That  baffles  minions  back  amain, 

Maryland  I 

Arise,  in  majesty  again, 

Maryland  ! My  Maryland  I 


13 


194 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


I see  the  blush  upon  thy  cheek, 

Maryland  I 

For  thou  wast  ever  bravely  meek, 

Maryland  I 

But  lo  ! there  surges  forth  a shriek 
From  hill  to  hill,  from  creek  to  creek — 

Potomac  calls  to  Chesapeake, 

Maryland  ! My  Maryland ! 

Thou  wilt  not  yield  the  Vandal  toll, 

Maryland ! 

Thou  wilt  not  crook  to  his  control, 

Maryland ! 

Better  the  fire  upon  thee  roll, 

Better  the  shot,  the  blade,  the  bowl, 

Than  crucifixion  of  the  soul, 

Maryland ! My  Maryland  ! 

I hear  the  distant  thunder-hum, 

> Maryland  I 

The  Old  Line  bugle,  fife,  and  drum, 

Maryland  I 

She  is  not  dead,  nor  deaf,  nor  dumb — 

Huzza  ! she  spurns  the  Northern  scum  I 
She  breathes — she  burns  I she’ll  come!  she’ll  come! 
Maryland  ! My.  Maryland  ! 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


195 


^‘OLD  BETSY” 

By  John  Killum. 

^OME,  with  the  rifle  so  long  in  your  keeping, 

Clean  the  old  gun  up  and  hurry  it  forth  ; 

Better  to  die  while  Old  Betsy  ” is  speaking, 

Than  live  with  arms  folded,  the  slave  of  the  North. 

Hear  ye  the  yelp  of  the  North -wolf  resounding, 

Scenting  the  blood  of  the  warm-hearted  South  ; 

Quick  ! or  his  villainous  feet  will  be  bounding 

Where  the  gore  of  our  maidens  may  drip  from  his 
mouth. 

Oft  in  the  wildwood  “ Old  Bess  ” has  relieved  you. 

When  the  fierce  bear  was  cut  down  in  his  track — 

If  at  that  moment  she  never  deceived  you, 

Trust  her  to-day  with  this  ravenous  pack. 

Then,  come,  with  the  rifle  so  long  in  your  keeping, 

Clean  the  old  girl  up  and  hurry  her  forth ; 

Better  to  die  while  “ Old  Betsy  ” is  speaking,* 

Than  live  with  arms  folded,  the  slave  of  the  North. 


THE  BEAUFORT  EXILE^S  LAMENT. 

j^ow  chant  me  a dirge  for  the  Isles  of  the  Sea, 
And  sing  the  sad  wanderer’s  psalm — 

Ye  women  and  children  in  exile  that  flee 
From  the  land  of  the  orange  and  palm. 

Lament  for  your  homes,  for  the  house  of  your  God, 
Now  the  haunt  of  the  vile  and  the  low ; 
Lament  for  the  graves  of  your  fathers,  now  trod 
By  the  foot  of  the  Puritan  foe  ! 


196 


IVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


No  longer  for  thee,  when  the  sables  of  night 
Are  fading  like  shadows  away,  . 

Does  the  mocking-bird,  drinking  the  first  beams  of  light, 
Praise  God  for  the  birth  of  a day. 

No  longer  for  thee,  when  the  rays  are  now  full. 

Do  the  oaks  form  an  evergreen  glade; 

While  the  drone  of  the  locust  o’erhead,  seemed  to  lull 
The  cattle  that  rest  in  the  shade. 

No  longer  for  thee  does  the  soft-shining  moon 
Silver  o’er  the  green  waves  of  the  bay; 

Nor  at  evening,  the  notes  of  the  wandering  loon 
Bid  farewell  to  the  sun’s  dying  ray. 

Nor  when  night  drops  her  pall  over  river  and  shore. 

And  scatters  eve’s  merry-voiced  throng. 

Does  there  rise,  keeping  time  to  the  stroke  of  the  oar. 

The  wild  chant  of  the  sacred  boat-song. 

Then  the  revellers  would  cease  ere  the  red  wine  they’d  quaff. 
The  traveller  would  pause  on  his  way  ; 

And  maidens  would  hush  their  low  silvery  laugh, 

To  list  to  the  negro’s  rude  lay. 

Going  home ! going  home  I ” methinks  I now  hear 
At  the  close  of  each  solemn  refrain  ; 

’Twill  be  many  a day,  aye,  and  many  a year. 

Ere  ye’ll  sing  that  dear  word  Home  ” again. 

Your  noble  sons  slain,  on  the  battle-field  lie. 

Your  daughters  ’mid  strangers  now  roam  ; 

Your  aged  and  helpless  in  poverty  sigh 

O’er  the  days  when  they  once  had  a home. 

“ Going  home  I going  home  ! ” for  the  exile  alone 
Can  those  words  sweep  the  chords  of  the  soul. 

And  raise  from  the  grave  the  loved  ones  who  are  gone. 

As  the  tide-waves  of  time  backward  roll. 


HIS  LAST  SHOT 

Au  Incident  of  the  deadly  charge  at  Gettysburg. 


WAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


197 


Going  home  ! going  home  !’^  Ah  ! how  many  who  pine, 
Dear  Beaufort,  to  press  thy  green  sod. 

Ere  then  will  have  passed  to  shores  brighter  than  thine — . 
Will  have  gone  home  at  last  to  their  God  I 


JOHN  PEGRAM. 

Fell  at  the  Head  of  his  Division,  February  6,  1865,  ^Etat  XXXIII, 
By  W.  Gordon  McCabe. 

shall  we  say,  now,  of  our  gentle  knight. 

Or  how  express  the  measure  of  our  woe. 

For  him  who  rode  the  foremost  in  the  fight, 

Whose  good  blade  flashed  so  far  amid  the  foe  ? 

Of  all  his  knightly  deeds  what  need  to  tell  ? — ■ 

That  good  blade  now  lies  fast  within  its  sheath; 
What  can  we  do  but  point  to  where  he  fell, 

And,  like  a soldier,  met  a soldier’s  death  ? 

We  sorrow  not  as  those  who  have  no  hope ; 

For  he  was  pure  in  heart  as  brave  in  deed — 

God  pardon  us,  if  blindly  we  should  grope. 

And  love  be  questioned  by  the  hearts  that  bleed. 

And  yet — oh  ! foolish  and  of  little  faith  ! 

We  cannot  choose  but  weep  our  useless  tears  ; 

We  loved  him  so  ; we  never  dreamed  that  death 
Would  dare  to  touch  him  in  his  brave  young  years. 

Ah  dear,  browned  face,  so  fearless  and  so  bright  I 
As  kind  to  friend  as  thou  wast  stern  to  foe — 

No  more  we’ll  see  thee  radiant  in  the  fight. 

The  eager  eyes — the  flush  on  cheek  and  brow  I 


198 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


No  more  we’ll  greet  the  lithe,  familiar  form, 

Amid  the  surging  smoke,  with  deaf  ning  cheer ; 

No  more  shall  soar  above  the  iron  storm. 

Thy  ringing  voice  in  accents  sweet  and  clear. 

Aye  f he  has  fought  the  fight  and  passed  away — 

Our  grand  young  leader  smitten  in  the  strife  I 

So  swift  to  seize  the  chances  of  the  fray. 

And  careless  only  of  his  noble  life. 

He  is  not  dead  but  sleepeth  I well  we  know 
The  form  that  lies  to-day  beneath  the  sod, 

Shall  rise  that  time  the  golden  bugles  blow. 

And  pour  their  music  through  the  courts  of  God. 

And  there  amid  our  great  heroic  dead — 

The  war-worn  sons  of  God,  whose  work  is  done — 

His  face  shall  shine,  as  they  with  stately  tread. 

In  grand  review,  sweep  past  the  jasper  throne. 

Let  not  our  hearts  be  troubled,  few  and  brief 

His  days  were  here,  yet  rich  in  love  and  faith ; 

Lord,  we  believe,  help  thou  our  unbelief. 

And  grant  thy  servants  such  a life  and  death ! 


CAPTIVES  GOING  HOME. 

o FLAUNTING  banners  o’er  them  wave. 

No  arms  fiash  back  the  sun’s  bright  ray, 
No  shouting  crowds  around  them  throng. 

No  music  cheers  them  on  their  way ; 
They’re  going  home.  By  adverse  fate 

Compelled  their  trusty  swords  to  sheathe  ; 
True  soldiers  they,  even  though  disarmed — 

Heroes,  though  robbed  of  victory’s  wreath. 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


199 


Brave  Southrons  I ’Tis  with  sorrowing  hearts 
We  gaze  upon  them  through  our  tears, 

And  sadly  feel  how  vain  were  all 

Their  heroic  deeds  through  weary  Years; 

Yet,  ’mid  their  enemies  they  move 

With  firm,  bold  step  and  dauntless  mien  ; 

Oh,  Liberty  ! in  every  age, 

Such  have  thy  chosen  heroes  been. 

Going  home  ! Alas,  to  them  the  words 

. Bring  visions  fraught  with  gloom  and  woe  : 

Since  last  they  saw  those  cherished  homes 
The  legions  of  the  invading  foe 

Have  swept  them,  simoon-like,  along. 

Spreading  destruction  with  the  wind  ! 

They  found  a garden,  but  they  left 
A howling  wilderness  behind.” 

Ah ! in  those  desolated  homes 

To  which  the  fate  of  war  has  come,” 

Sad  is  the  welcome — poor  the  feast — 

Yet  loving  ones  will  round  him  throng, 

With  smiles  more  tender,  if  less  gay. 

And  joy  will  brighten  pallid  cheeks 
At  sight  of  the  dear  boys  in  gray. 

Aye,  give  them  welcome  home,  fair  South, 

For  you  they’ve  made  a deathless  name ; 

Bright  through  all  after-time  will  glow 
The  glorious  record  of  their  fame. 

They  made  a nation.  What,  though  soon 
Its  radiant  sun  has  seemed  to  set ; 

The  past  has  shown  what  they  can  do, 

The  future  holds  bright  promise  yet. 


200 


WAT?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


“ OUR  LEFT  AT  MANASSAS.’’ 

J^ROM  dawn  to  dark  they  stood, 

That  long  midsummer’s  day  I 
While  fierce  and  fast 
The  battle-blast 

Swept  rank  on  rank  away  I 

From  dawn  to  dark  they  fought 

With  legions  swept  and  cleft, 
While  black  and  wide, 

The  battle-tide 

Poured  ever  on  our  “ Left  I ” 

They  closed  each  ghastly  gap  1 

They  dressed  each  shattered  rank  ; 

They  knew,  how  well  ! 

That  Freedom  fell 

With  that  exhausted  flank  I 

‘‘  Oh  ! for  a thousand  men. 

Like  these  that  melt  away  I ” 
And  down  they  came. 

With  steel  and  flame, 

Four  thousand  to  the  fray  ! 

They  left  the  laggard  train  ; 

The  panting  steam  might  stay  ; 

And  down  they  came. 

With  steel  and  flame. 

Head-foremost  to  the  fray  I 

Right  through  tlie  blackest  cloud! 

Their  lightning-path  they  cleft  I 
Freedom  and  Fame 
With  triumph  came 

To  our  immortal  Left. 


IVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY  • 


201 


Ye  I of  your  living,  sure  I 

Ye  I of  your  dead,  bereft  [ 
Honor  the  brave 
Who  died  to  save 

Your  all,  upon  our  Left. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS  OF  MISSION  HIDGE. 
By  J.  Augustine  Signaigo. 

hen  the  foes,  in  conflict  heated. 
Battled  over  road  and  bridge, 

While  Bragg  sullenly  retreated 

From  the  heights  of  Mission  Bidge — ■ 
There,  amid  the  pines  and  wildwood. 

Two  opposing  colonels  fell. 

Who  had  schoolmates  been  in  childhood, 
And  had  loved  each  other  well. 

There,  amid  the  roar  and  rattle. 

Facing  havoc’s  fiery  breath. 

Met  the  wounded  two  in  battle. 

In  the  agonies  of  death. 

But  they  saw  each  other  reeling 
On  the  dead  and  dying  men, 

And  the  old  time,  full  of  feeling. 

Came  upon  them  once  again. 

When  that  night  the  moon  came  creeping. 
With  its  gold  streaks,  o’er  the  slain, 
She  beheld  two  soldiers  sleeping. 

Free  from  every  earthly  pain. 

Close  beside  the  mountain  heather. 

Where  the  rocks  obscure  the  sand. 
They  had  died,  it  seems,  together. 

As  they  clasped  each  other’s  hand. 


202 


WAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


ON  TO  EICHMOND. 

By  John  E.  Thompson,  of  Virginia. 

It  need  hardly  be  mentioned  here  that  Richmond,  Virginia,  was  the 
Capital  of  the  Confederacy,  almost  the  whole  of  the  war,  from  near  its 
beginning  unto  the  end.  When  General  Lee’s  forces  abandoned  Richmond 
to  General  Grant  and  his  army,  it  struck  a blow  to  the  Southern  cause  from 
which  it  seemed  impossible  to  recover.  From  that  hour  when  the  last 
soldier  left  our  Capital  city,  until  the  surrender  at  Appomattox,  people 
saw  and  accepted  the  result  of  the  great  struggle.  It  was  known  on  the 
opposite  side,  that  when  Richmond  failed,  the  Confederacy  was  at  an  end, 
and  so  it  proved  to  be.  To-day,  that  beautiful  little  city  has  come  forth 
from  the  ashes  of  her  ruins  the  Queen  of  the  South,  and  stands  there  the 
Capital  of  the  Old  Commonwealth,  the  mother  of  statesmen,  and  the  leader 
of  her  sisters  of  the  South. 

j\^ajor-General  Scott 
An  order  had  got 

To  push  on  the  columns  to  Eichmond  ; 

For  loudly  went  forth 
From  all  parts  of  the  North, 

The  cry  that  an  end  of  the  war  must  be  made 
In  time  for  the  regular  yearly  Fall  Trade  ; 

Mr.  Greeley  spoke  freely  about  the  delay, 

The  A^ankees  “ to  hum  ” were  all  hot  for  the  fray  ; 

The  chivalrous  Grow 
Declared  they  were  slow. 

And  therefore  the  order 
To  march  from  the  border 

And  make  an  excursion  to  Eichmond. 

Major-General  Scott 
Most  likely  was  not 

Very  loth  to  obey  this  instruction,  I wot; 

In  his  private  opinion 

The  Ancient  Dominion 

Deserved  to  be  pillaged,  her  sons  to  be  shot, 

And  the  reason  is  easily  noted  ; 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


203 


Though  this  part  of  the  earth 
Had  given  him  birth, 

And  medals  and  swords, 

Inscribed  with  fine  wmrds. 

It  never  for  Winfield  had  voted. 

Besides,  you  must  know  that  our  First  of  Commanders 
Had  sworn  quite  as  hard  as  the  Army  in  Flanders, 
With  his  finest  of  armies  and  proudest  of  navies, 

To  wreak  his  old  grudge  against  Jefferson  Davis. 

Then  “ forward  the  column,”  he  said  to  McDowell ; 
And  the  Zouaves,  with  a shout. 

Most  fiercely  cried  out, 

“ To  Richmond  or  h — 11  ” (I  omit  here  the  vowel). 
And  Winfield,  he  ordered  his  carriage  and  four, 

A dashing  turnout,  to  be  brought  to  the  door, 

For  a pleasant  excursion  to  Richmond. 

Major-General  Scott 
Had  there  on  the  spot 
A splendid  array 
To  plunder  and  slay  ; 

In  the  camp  he  might  boast 
Such  a numerous  host. 

As  he  never  had  yet 
In  the  battle-field  set ; 

Every  class  and  condition  of  Northern  society 
Were  in  for  the  trip,  a most  varied  variety  ; 

In  the  camp  he  might  hear  every  lingo  in  vogue; 

The  sweet  German  accent,  the  rich  Irish  brogue.” 
The  beauthiful  boy 

From  the  banks  of  the  Shannon, 

Was  there  to  employ 
His  excellent  cannon 

And  besides  the  long  files  of  dragoons  and  artillery, 
The  Zouaves  and  Hussars, 

All  the  children  of  Mars, 


204 


lVA/^  SOJVGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


There  were  barbers  and  cooks 
And  writers  of  books^ — 

The  chef  de  cuisine  with  his  French  bills  of  fare, 

And  the  artists  to  dress  the  young  officers’  hair. 

And  the  scribblers  all  ready  at  once  to  prepare 
An  eloquent  story 
Of  conquest  and  glory  ; 

And  servants  with  numberless  baskets  of  Sillery, 
Though  Wilson,  the  Senator,  followed  the  train, 

^ At  a distance  quite  safe,  to  conduct  the  champagne 
While  the  fields  were  so  green  and  the  sky  was  so  blue, 
There  was  certainly  nothing  more  pleasant  to  do 
On  this  pleasant  excursion  to  Richmond. 

In  Congress  the  talk,  as  I said,  was  of  action. 

To  crush  out  instanter  the  traitorous  faction. 

In  the  press,  and  the  mess. 

They  would  hear  of  nothing  less 

Than  to  make  the  advance,  spite  of  rhyme  or  of  reason. 
And  at  once  put  an  end  to  the  insolent  treason. 

There  was  Greeley, 

And  Ely, 

The  bloodthirsty  Grow, 

And  Hickman  (the  rowdy,  not  Hickman  the  beau). 

And  that  terrible  Baker 

Who  would  seize  on  the  South,  every  acre, 

And  Webb,  who  would  drive  us  all  into  the  Gulf,  or 
Some  nameless  locality  smelling  of  sulphur  ; 

And  W'ith  all  this  bold  crew 
Nothing  would  do. 

While  the  fields  were  so  green  and  the  sky  was  so  blue, 
But  to  march  on  directly  to  Richmond. 

Then  the  gallant  McDowell 
Drove  madly  the  rowel 

Of  spur  that  had  never  been  won  ” by  him. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  MALVERN  HILL,  JULY  1,  1862 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


205 


In  the  flank  of  his  steed, 

To  accomplish  a deed, 

Such  as  never  before  had  been  done  by  him ; 
And  the  battery  called  Sherman’s 
Was  wheeled  into  line, 

While  the  beer-drinking  Germans 
From  Neckar  and  Rhine, 

With  minie  and  yager, 

Came  on  with  a swagger. 

Full  of  fury  and  lager, 

(The  day  and  the  pageant  were  equally  fine.) 
Oh  ! the  fields  were  so  green  and  the  sky  was  so  blue, 
Indeed  ’twas  a spectacle  pleasant  to  view. 

As  the  column  pushed  onward  to  Richmond. 

Ere  the  march  was  begun, 

I n a spirit  of  fun. 

General  Scott  in  a speech 

Said  this  army  should  teach 

The  Southrons  the  lesson  the  laws  to  obey. 

And  just  before  dusk  of  the  third  or  fourth  day. 
Should  joyfully  march  into  Richmond. 


He  spoke  of  their  drill 
And  their  courage  and  skill. 

And  declared  that  the  ladies  of  Richmond  would  rave 
O’er  such  matchless  perfection,  and  gracefully  wave 
In  rapture  their  delicate  kerchiefs  in  air 
At  their  morning  parades  on  the  Capitol  Square. 

But  alack  ! and  alas  ! 

Mark  what  soon  came  to  pass, 

When  this  army,  in  spite  of  its  flatteries. 

Amid  war’s  loudest  thunder 
Must  stupidly  blunder 

Upon  those  accursed  masked  batteries.” 


206 


IF^J^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Then  Beauregard  came, 

Like  a tempest  of  flame, 

To  consume  them  in  wrath 
On  their  perilous  path  ; 

And  Johnston  bore  down  in  whirlwind  to  sweep 
Their  ranks  from  the  fleld 
Where  their  doom  had  been  sealed. 

As  the  storm  rushes  over  the  face  of  the  deep  ! 

While  swift  on  the  centre  our  President  passed. 

And  the  foe  might  descry 
In  the  glance  of  his  eye 
The  light  that  once  blazed  upon  Diomed’s  crest. 
McDowell ! McDowell ! weep,  weep  for  the  day 
When  the  Southrons  you  meet  in  their  battle  array ; 
To  your  confident  hosts  with  its  bullet  and  steel 
’Twas  worse  than  Culloden  to  luckless  Lochiel. 

Oh  ! the  generals  were  green  and  old  Scott  is  now  blue, 
And  a terrible  business,  McDowell,  to  you, 

Was  that  pleasant  excursion  to  Pichmond. 


TURNER  ASHBY. 

By  John  R.  Thompson,  of  Virginia. 

THE  brave  all  homage  render, 

Weep,  ye  skies  of  June! 

With  a radiance  pure  and  tender. 

Shine,  oh  saddened  moon  I 

“ Dead  upon  the  field  of  glory,” 

Hero  fit  for  song  and  story. 

Lies  our  bold  dragoon  I 

Well  they  learned,  whose  hands  have  slain  him. 
Braver,  knightlier  foe 
Never  fought  with  Moor  nor  Paynim — 


JVAI^  SONCS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


207 


Rode  at  Templestowe ; 

With  a mien  how  high  and  joyous, 

^Gainst  the  hordes  that  would  destroy  us, 

Went  he  forth  we  know. 

Never  more,  alas  ! shall  sabre 
Glean  around  his  crest ; 

Fought  his  fight,  fulfilled  his  labor, 

Stilled  his  manly  breast ; 

All  unheard  sweet  nature’s  cadence. 
Trump  of  fame  and  voice  of  maidens — 
Now  he  takes  his  rest. 

Earth  that  all  too  soon  hath  bound  him, 

Gently  wrap  his  clay  ; 

Linger  lovingly  around  him, 

Light  of  dying  day ; 

Softly  fall  the  summer  showers. 

Birds  and  bees  among  the  fiowers 
Make  the  gloom  seem  gay. 

There,  throughout  the  coming  ages, 

When  his  sword  is  rust. 

And  his  deeds  in  classic  pages ; 

Mindful  of  her  trust, 

Shall  Virginia,  bending  lowly, 

Still  a ceaseless  vigil  holy 
Keep  above  his  dust. 


208 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  MEN. 

By  Maurice  Bell. 

T N the  dusk  of  the  forest  shade 

^ A sallow  and  dusty  group  reclined  ; 

Gallops  a horseman  up  the  glade — 

“ Where  will  I your  leader  find  ? 

Tidings  I bring  from  the  morning’s  scout — 

I’ve  borne  them  o’er  mound,  and  moor,  and  fen.’^ 

“ Well,  sir,  stay  not  hereabout, 

Here  are  only  a few  of  ‘ the  men.’ 

• Here  no  collar  has  bar  or  star, 

No  rich  lacing  adorns  a sleeve ; 

Further  on  our  officers  are, 

Let  them  your  report  receive. 

Higher  up,  on  the  hill  up  there, 

Overlooking  this  shady  glen, 

There  are  their  quarters — don’t  stop  here, 

We  are  only  some  of  ^ the  men.’ 

Yet  stay,  courier,  if  you  bear 
Tidings  that  the  fight  is  near  ; 

Tell  them  we’re  ready,  and  that  where 

They  wish  us  to  be  we’ll  soon  appear  ; 

Tell  them  only  to  let  us  know 

Where  to  form  our  ranks,  and  when  ; 

And  we’ll  teach  the  vaunting  foe 

That  they’ve  met  a few  of  ‘ the  men.’ 

“ We’re  the  men,  though  our  clothes  are  worn — 
We’re  the  men,  though  we  wear  no  lace— 

We’re  the  men,  who  the  foe  hath  torn, 

And  scattered  their  ranks  in  dire  disgrace ; 
We’re  the  men  who  have  triumphed  before — 

We’re  the  men  who  will  triumph  again ; 

For  the  dust,  and  the  smoke,  and  the  cannon’s  roar, 
And  the  clashing  bayonets — ‘ we’re  the  men.  ’ ” 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


209 


‘‘Ye  who  sneer  at  the  battle-scars, 

Of  garments  faded,  and  soiled  and  bare, 
Yet  who  have  for  the  ‘ stars  and  bars  ^ 

Praise  and  homage  and  dainty  fare  ; 
Mock  the  wearers  and  pass  them  on, 

Refuse  them  kindly  word — and  then 
Know,  if  your  freedom  is  ever  won 

By  human  agents — these  are  the  men  I 


“A  REBEL  SOLDIER  KILLED  IN  THE  TRENCHES 
BEFORE  PETERSBURG,  VA.,  APRIL  15,  1865.’^ 


By  a Kentucky  Girl. 

ILLED  in  the  trenches  ! How  cold  and  bare 


The  inscription  graved  on  the  white  card  there. 
’Tis  a photograph,  taken  last  Spring,  they  say, 

Ere  the  smoke  of  battle  had  cleared  away — 

Of  a rebel  soldier — just  as  he  fell, 

When  his  heart  was  pierced  by  a Union  shell ; 

And  his  image  was  stamped  by  the  sunbeam’s  ray, 

As  he  lay  in  the  trenches  that  April  day. 

Oh  God  ! Oh  God  I How  my  woman’s  heart 
Thrills  with  a quick,  convulsive  pain, 

As  I view,  unrolled  by  the  magic  of  Art, 

One  dreadful  scene  from  the  battle- plain  - 
White  as  the  foam  of  the  storm-tossed  wave. 

Lone  as  the  rocks  those  billows  lave — 

Gray  sky  above — cold  clay  beneath — 

A gallant  form  lies  stretched  in  death  ! 

With  his  calm  face  fresh  on  the  trampled  clay, 

And  the  brave  hands  clasped  o’er  the  manly  breast : 
Save  the  sanguine  stains  on  his  jacket  gray, 

We  might  deem  him  taking  a soldier’s  rest. 

Ah  no  I Too  red  is  that  crimson  tide — 

Too  deeply  pierced  that  wounded  side; 

Youth,  hope,  love,  glory — manhood’s  pride — ^ 

Have  all  in  vain  Death’s  bolt  defied. 


14 


210 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


His  faithful  carbine  lies  useless  there, 

As  it  dropped  from  its  master’s  nerveless  ward  ; 
And  the  sunbeams  glance  on  his  waving  hair 
Which  the  fallen  cap  has  ceased  to  guard — 

Oh  Heaven  I spread  o’er  it  thy  merciful  shield, 

Ko  more  to  my  sight  be  the  battle  revealed  I 
Oh  fiercer  than  tempest — grim  Hades  as  dread — 

On  woman’s  eye  flashes  the  field  of  the  dead  I 

The  scene  is  changed  : In  a quiet  room, 

Far  from  the  spot  where  the  lone  corpse  lies, 
A mother  kneels  in  the  evening  gloom 
To  offer  her  nightly  sacrifice. 

The  noon  is  past,  and  the  day  is  done. 

She  knows  that  the  battle  is  lost  or  won — 

Who  lives  ? Who  died  ? Hush  I be  thou  still  I 
The  boy  lies  dead  on  the  trench-barred  hill. 


BATTLE  OF  HAMPTON  EOADS. 

By  Ossian  D.  Gorman. 

e’er  had  a scene  of  beauty  smiled 
On  placid  waters  ’neath  the  sun. 

Like  that  on  Hampton’s  watery  plain. 

The  fatal  morn  the  fight  begun. 

Far  toward  the  silvery  Sewell  shores. 

Below  the  guns  of  Craney  Isle, 

Were  seen  our  fleet  advancing  fast. 

Beneath  the  sun’s  auspicious  smile. 

Oh,  fatal  night ! the  hostile  hordes 

Of  Newport  camp  spread  dire  alarms; 
The  Cumberland  for  fight  prepares — 

The  fierce  marines  now  rush  to  arms. 


WAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


211 


The  Merrimac,  strong  cladded  o’er, 

In  quarters  close  begins  her  fire, 

Nor  fears  the  rushing  hail  of  shot, 

And  deadly  missiles  swift  and  dire. 

But,  rushing  on  ’mid  smoke  and  flame. 

And  belching  thunder  long  and  loud, 

Salutes  the  ship  with  bow  austere. 

And  then  withdraws  in  wreaths  of  cloud. 

The  work  is  done.  The  frigate  turns 
In  agonizing,  doubtful  poise — 

She  sinks  ! she  sinks!  along  the  deck 
I heard  a shrieking,  wailing  noise. 
Engulfed  beneath  those  placid  waves 
Disturbed  by  battle’s  onward  surge. 

The  crew  is  gone  ; the  vessel  sleeps. 

And  whistling  bombshells  sing  her  dirge. 

The  battle  still  is  raging  fierce  ; 

The  Congress,  “ high  and  dry  ” aground. 
Maintains  in  vain  her  boasted  power, 

For  now  the  gunboats  flock  around. 

With  “ stars  and  bars  ” at  mainmast  reared. 

And  pour  their  lightning  on  the  main. 

While  Merrimac,  approaching  fast 

Sends  forth  her  shell  and  hot-shot  rain. 

Meantime  the  Jamestown,  gallant  boat, 
Engages  strong  redoubts  at  land — 

While  Patrick  Henry  glides  along. 

To  board  tlie  Congress,  still  astrand. 

This  done,  we  turn  intently  on 
The  Minnesota,  which  replies. 

With  whizzing  shell  to  Teaser’s  gun. 

Whose  booming  cleaves  the  distant  skies. 


212 


IVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  naval  combat  sounds  anew  ; 

The  hostile  fleets  are  not  withdrawn, 
Though  night  is  closing  earth  and  sea 
In  twilight’s  pale  and  mystic  dawn. 
Strange  whistling  noises  All  the  air ; 

The  powdered  smoke  looks  dark  as  night, 
And  deadly,  lurid  flames  pour  forth 

Their  radiance  on  the  missiles’  flight'; 
Grand  picture  on  the  noisy  waves  ! 

The  breezy  zephyrs  onward  roam, 

And  echoing  volleys  float  afar. 

Disturbing  Neptune’s  coral  home. 

The  victory’s  ours,  and  let  the  world 

Record  Buchanan’s  name  with  pride ; 
The  crew  is  brave,  the  banner  bright, 

That  ruled  the  day  when  Hutter  died. 


KATY  WELLS. 

ou  ask  what  makes  this  darky  sad. 

Why  he  like  others  am  not  gay. 

What  makes  the  tear  flow  down  his  cheek 
From  early  morn  till  close  of  day  ? 

My  story,  darkies,  you  shall  hear 

For  in  my  memory  fresh  it  dwells, 
’Twill  cause  you  all  to  drop  a tear 

On  the  grave  of  my  sweet  Katy  Wells. 

Chorus : 

When  the  birds  were  singing  in  the  morning. 
And  the  myrtle  and  the  ivy  were  in  bloom 
When  the  sun  o’er  the  hills  was  dawning  ; 
’Twas  then  we  laid  her  in  the  tomb. 


likeness  of  him  during  war  time. 


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lVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


213 


Oh,  I remember  well  the  day 

When  we  together  roamed  the  dells, 

I kissed  her  cheek  and  named  the  day 
When  I should  marry  Katy  Wells, 

But  death  came  in  my  cabin  door, 

And  stole  from  me  my  joy  and  pride, 

And  when  I found  she  was  no  more, 

I laid  my  banjo  down  and  cried. 

The  springtime  has  no  charms  for  me, 

The  flowers  that  bloom  around  the  dells 
There’s  a form  I long  to  see  ; 

The  form  of  my  sweet  Katy  Wells.  Chorus — 

I’ve  sometimes  wished  that  I was  dead. 

And  laid  beside  her  in  the  tomb. 

For  sorrow  now  bows  down  my  head 
In  silence  to  the  midnight  gloom. 

I’m  longing  for  the  day  to  come 

When  I shall  clasp  her  to  my  heart. 

While  in  the  heavenly  fields  we  roam 

And  never,  never  more  to  part.  Chorus — 


ELLA  BEE. 

Ella  Bee  so  kind  and  true. 

In  the  little  church  yard  lies. 

Her  grave  is  bright  with  drops  of  dew, 

But  brighter  were  her  eyes. 

Chorus : 

Then  carry  me  back  to  Tennessee, 
There  let  me  live  and  die 
Among  the  fields  of  yellow  corn. 
In  the  land  where  Ella  lies. 


214 


JVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  summer  moon  may  rise  and  set 

And  the  night  birds  thrill  their  lay, 

And  the  possum  and  coon  will  softly  step 

Around  the  grave  of  Ella  Ree.  Chorus — 


THE  BOY-SOLDIER. 

is  acting  o’er  the  battle, 

With  his  cap  and  feather  gay, 
Singing  out  his  soldier-prattle. 

In  a mockish,  manly  way — 
With  the  boldest,  bravest  footstep. 

Treading  firmly  up  and  down. 
And  his  banner  waving  softly. 

O’er  his  boyish  locks  of  brown. 

And  I sit  beside  him  sewing. 

With  a busy  heart  and  hand, 

For  the  gallant  soldiers  going 

To  the  far-off  battle  land — 

And  I gaze  upon  my  jewel. 

In  his  baby  spirit  bold. 

My  little  blue-eyed  soldier. 

Just  a second  summer  old. 

Still  a deep,  deep  well  of  feeling. 

In  my  mother’s  heart  is  stirred. 
And  the  tears  come  softly  stealing 
At  each  imitative  work  ! 

There’s  a struggle  in  my  bosom 
For  I love  my  darling  boy — 
He’s  the  gladness  of  my  spirit. 

He’s  the  sunlight  of  my  joy  I 


IVAI?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


215 


Yet  I think  upon  my  country, 

And  my  spirit  groweth  bold — 

Oh  ! I wish  my  blue-eyed  soldier 
Were  but  twenty  summers  old  ! 

I would  speed  him  to  the  battle^ 

I would  arm  him  for  the  fight ; 

I would  give  him  to  his  country, 

For  his  country’s  wrong  and  right! 

I would  nerve  his  hand  with  blessing 
From  the  ‘'God  of  battles”  won — 

With  Fiis  helmet  and  His  armor. 

I would  cover  o’er  my  son. 

Oh  I I know  there’d  be  a struggle, 

For  I love  my  darling  boy  ; 

He’s  the  gladness  of  my  spirit. 

He’s  the  sunlight  of  my  joy  ! 

Yet  in  thinking  of  my  country, 

Oh  ! my  spirit  groweth  bold. 

And  I wish  my  blue-eyed  soldier 
Were  but  twenty  summers  old ! 


THE  TWO  ARMIES. 

By  Henry  Timrod. 

armies  stand  enrolled  beneath 
The  banner  with  the  starry  wreath  ; 
One,  facing  battle,  blight  and  blast. 
Through  twice  a hundred  fields  has  passed  ; 
Its  deeds  against  a ruffian  foe. 

Stream,  valley,  hill,  and  mountain  know. 
Till  every  wind  that  sweeps  the  land 
Goes,  glory-laden,  from  the  strand. 


216 


JVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  other,  with  a narrower  scope, 

Yet  led  by  not  less  grand  a hope. 

Hath  won,  perhaps,  as  proud  a place, 

And  wears  its  fame  witli  meeker  grace. 

AYives  march  beneath  its  glittering  sign, 

Fond  mothers  swell  the  lovely  line  ; 

And  many  a sweetheart  hides  her  blush 
In  the  young  patriot’s  generous  flush. 

No  breeze  of  battle  ever  fanned 
The  colors  of  that  tender  band  ; 

Its  office  is  beside  the  bed, 

Where  throbs  some  sick  or  wounded  head. 

It  does  not  court  the  soldier’s  tomb. 

But  plies  the  needle  and  the  loom  ; 

And,  by  a thousand  peaceful  deeds, 

Supplies  a struggling  nation’s  needs. 

Nor  is  that  army’s  gentle  night 
Unfelt  amid  the  deadly  fight; 

It  nerves  the  son’s,  the  husband’s  hand, 

It  points  the  lover’s  fearless  brand  ; 

It  thrills  the  languid,  warms  the  cold. 

Gives  even  new  courage  to  the  bold. 

And  sometimes  lifts  the  veriest  clod 
To  its  own  lofty  trust  in  God. 

When  Heaven  shall  blow  the  trump  of  peace, 
And  bid  this  weary  warfare  cease. 

Their  several  missions  nobly  done, 

The  triumph  grasped,  and  freedom  won« 

Both  armies,  from  their  toils  at  rest, 

Alike  may  claim  the  victor’s  crest. 

But  each  shall  see  its  dearest  prize 
Gleam  softly  from  the  other’s  eyes. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


217 


SONNET. 

On  Reading  a Proclamation  for  Public  Prayer. 

By  a South  Carolinian. 

! terrible,  this  prayer  in  the  market-place, 

These  advertised  humilities — decreed 
By  proclamation  that  we  may  be  freed, 

And  mercy  find  for  once,  and  saving  grace. 

Even  while  we  forfeit  all  that  made  the  race 
Worthy  of  heavenly  favor — and  profess 
Our  faith  and  homage  only  through  duress, 

And  dread  of  danger  which  we  dare  not  face. 

All  working  that’s  done  worthily  is  prayer — 

And  honest  thought  in  prayer — the  wish,  the  will 
To  mend  our  ways,  maintain  our  virtues  still, 
And,  losing  life,  still  keep  our  bosoms  fair 
In  sight  of  God — with  whom  humility 
And  patient  working  can  alone  make  free. 


BATTLE  OF  BELMONT. 

By  J.  Augustine  Signaigo. 

ow  glory  to  our  Southern  cause,  and  praises  be  to  God, 
That  He  hath  met  the  Southron’s  foe,  and  scourged  him 
with  His  rod  ; 

On  the  tented  plains  of  Belmont,  in  their  might  the  Vandals 
came,  . 

And  they  gave  unto  destruction  all  they  found,  with  sword 
and  flame; 

But  they  met  a stout  resistance  from  a little  band  that  day. 

Who  swore  nobly  they  would  conquer,  or  return  to  mother 
clay. 


218 


lFAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  the  Vandals  with  presumption — for  they  came  in  all  their 
might — 

Gave  free  vent  unto  their  feelings,  for  they  thought  to  win  the 
fight; 

And  they  forced  our  little  cohorts  to  the  very  river’s  brink, 

With  a breath  between  destruction  and  of  life’s  remaining 
link  : 

When  the  cannon  of  McCown,  belching  fire  from  out  its 
mouth, 

Brought  destruction  to  the  Vandals  and  protection  to  the 
South. 

There  was  Pillow,  Polk  and  Cheatham,  who  had  sworn  that 
day  on  high 

That  field  should  see  them  conquer,  or  that  field  should  see 
them  die ; 

And  amid  the  groan  of  dying,  and  amid  the  battle’s  din. 

Came  the  echo  back  from  Heaven,  that  they  should  that 
battle  win  ; 

And  amid  the  boom  of  cannon,  and  amid  the  clash  of  swords, 

• Came  destruction  to  the  foeman — and  the  vengeance  was  the 
Lord’s. 

When  the  fight  was  raging  hottest,  came  the  wild  and 
cheering  cry. 

That  brought  terror  to  the  foeman,  and  that  raised  our  spirits 
high ! 

It  was  Cheatham  ! ” Cheatham  ! ” “ Cheatham  ! ” that  the 
V^andals’  ears  did  sting. 

And  our  boys  caught  up  the  echo  till  it  made  the  welkin 
ring; 

And  the  moment  that  the  Hessians  thought  the  fight  was 
surely  won. 

From  the  crackling  of  our  rifles — bravely  then  they  had 
to  run  I 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


219 


Then  they  ran  unto  their  transports  in  deep  terror  and  dismay, 

And  their  great  grandchildren’s  children  will  be  shamed  to 
name  that  day  ; 

For  the  woe  they  came  to  bring  to  the  people  of  the  South 

Was  returned  tenfold  to  them  at  the  cannon’s  booming  mouth; 

And  the  proud  old  Mississippi  ran  that  day  a horrid  flood, 

For  its  banks  were  deeply  crimsoned  with  the  hireling 
Northman’s  blood. 

Let  us  think  of  those  who  fell  there,  fighting  foremost  with 
the  foe. 

And  who  nobly  struck  for  Freedom,  dealing  Tyranny  a blow: 

Like  the  ocean  beating  wildly  ’gainst  a prow  of  adamant. 

Or  the  storm  that  keeps  on  bursting,  but  cannot  destroy  the 
plant ; 

Brave  Lieutenant  Walker,  wounded,  still  fought  on  the  bloody 
field, 

Cheering  on  his  noble  comrades,  ne’er  unto  the  foe  to  yield-! 

None  e’er  knew  him  but  to  love  him,  the  brave  martyr  to  his 
clime — 

Now  his  name  belongs  to  Freedom,  to  the  very  end  of  Time  : 

And  the  last  words  that  he  uttered  will  forgotten  be  by  few  : 

“ I have  bravely  fought  them,  mother — I have  bravely  fought 
for  you  1 ” 

Let  his  memory  he  green  in  the  hearts  who  love  the  South, 

And  his  noble  deeds  the  theme  that  shall  dwell  in  every 
mouth. 

In  the  hottest  of  the  battle  stood  a Vandal  bunting  rag. 

Proudly  to  the  breeze  ’twas  floating  in  defiance  to  our  flag  ; 

And  our  Southern  boys  knew  well  that,  to  bring  that  bunting 
down. 

They  would  meet  the  angel  death  in  his  sternest,  maddest 
frown ; 


220 


IVAR  SOA^GS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  it  could  not  gallant  Armstrong,  dauntless  Vollmer,  or 
brave  Lynch, 

Though  ten  thousand  deaths  confronted,  from  the  task  of 
honor  flinch  I 

And  they  charged  upon  that  bunting,  guarded  by  grim- 
visaged  Death, 

Who  had  withered  all  around  it  with  the  blister  of  his  breath; 

But  they  plucked  it  from  his  grasp,  and  brave  Vollmer  waved 
it  high. 

On  the  gory  field  of  battle,  where  the  three  were  doomed  to 
die ; 

But  before  their  spirits  fled  came  the  death-shout  of  the  three. 

Cheering  for  the  sunny  South  and  beloved  old  Tennessee  I 

Let  the  horrors  of  this  day  to  the  foe  a warning  be. 

That  the  Lord  is  with  the  South,  that  His  arm  is  with  the 
free  ; 

That  her  soil  is  pure  and  spotless,  as  her  clear  and  sunny  sky. 

And  that  he  who  dare  pollute  it  on  her  soil  shall  surely  die; 

For  His  flat  hath  gone  forth,  e’en  among  the  Hessian  horde. 

That  the  South  has  got  His  blessing,  for  the  South  is  of  the 
Lord. 

Then  glory  to  our  Southern  cause,  and  praises  give  to  God, 

That  He  hath  met  the  Southron’s  foe  and  scourged  him  with 
His  rod  ; 

That  He  hath  been  upon  our  side,  with  all  His  strength  and 
might, 

And  battled  for  the  Southern  cause  in  every  bloody  fight ; 

Let  us  in  meek  humility,  to  all  the  world  proclaim, 

We  bless  and  glorify  the  Lord,  and  battle  in  His  name 


GENERAL  JOHN  H.  MORGAN  GENERAL  JOHN  C.  BRECENRIDGE 


SOA^GS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


221 


THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 
By  H.  L.  Flash. 

TT^hy  are  we  forever  speaking 
Of  the  warriors  of  old  ? 

Men  are  fighting  all  around  us, 

Full  as  noble,  full  as  bold. 

Ever  working,  ever  striving. 

Mind  and  muscle,  heart  and  soul, 
With  the  reins  of  judgment  keeping 
Passions  under  full  control. 

Noble  hearts  are  beating  boldly 
As  they  ever  did  on  earth ; 

Swordless  heroes  are  around  us. 

Striving  ever  from  their  birth. 

Tearing  down  the  old  abuses. 

Building  up  the  purer  laws, 
Scattering  the  dust  of  ages. 

Searching  out  the  hidden  flaws. 

Acknowledging  no  ‘‘right  divine^’ 

In  kings  and  princes  from  the  rest; 

In  their  creed  he  is  the  noblest 

Who  has  worked  and  striven  best. 

Decorations  do  not  tempt  them — 

Diamond  stars  they  laugh  to  scorn — 
Each  will  wear  a “ Cross  of  Honor 
On  the  Resurrection  morn. 

Warriors  they  in  fields  of  wisdom — 

Like  the  noble  Hebrew  youth. 

Striking  down  Goliath’s  error. 

With  the  God-blessed  stone  of  truth. 


222 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Marshalled  ’neath  the  Right’s  broad  banner, 
ForvA'ard  rush  these  volunteers, 

Beating  olden  wrong  away 

From  the  fast  advancing  years. 

Contemporaries  do  not  see  them 
But  the  coming  times  will  say 
(Speaking  of  the  slandered  present), 

“ There  were  heroes  in  that  day.” 

Why  are  we  then  idly  lying 
On  the  roses  of  our  life. 

While  the  noble-hearted  struggle 
In  the  world-redeeming  strife. 

Let  us  rise  and  join  the  legion. 

Ever  foremost  in  the  fray — 
Battling  in  the  name  of  Progress 
For  the  nobler,  purer  day. 


CLOUDS  IN  THE  WEST. 

By  a.  J.  Requier,  of  Alabama, 

PJark  ! on  the  wind  that  whistles  from  the  West 
A manly  shout  for  instant  succor  comes, 

From  men  who  fight,  outnumbered,  breast  to  breast, 
W^ith  rage-indented  drums  ! 

Who  dare  for  child,  wife,  country — stream  and  strand. 
Though  but  a fraction  to  the  swarming  foe. 

There — at  the  flooded  gateways  of  the  land. 

To  stem  a torrent’s  flow. 

To  arms  ! brave  sons  of  each  embattled  State, 

Whose  queenly  standard  is  a Southern  star ; 

Who  would  be  free  must  ride  the  lists  of  Fate 
On  Freedom’s  victor-car ! 


IFAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


223 


Forsake  the  field,  the  shop,  the  mart,  the  hum 
Of  craven  traffic  for  the  mustering  clan  ; 

The  dead  themselves  are  pledged  that  you  shall  come 
And  prove  yourself — a man. 

That  sacred  turf  where  first  a thrilling  grief 

Was  felt  which  taught  you  Heaven  alone  disposes — 

God  ! can  you  live  to  see  a foreign  thief 
Contaminate  its  roses  ? 

Blow,  summoning  trumpets,  a compulsive  stave. 

Through  all  the  bounds,  from  Beersheba  to  Dan  ; 

Come  out ! come  out ! who  scorns  to  be  a slave,  * 

Or  claims  to  be  a man  ! 

Hark  ! on  the  breezes  whistling  from  the  West 
A manly  shout  for  instant  succor  comes. 

From  men  who  fight,  outnumbered,  breast  to  breast, 
With  rage-indented  drums! 

Who  charge  and  cheer  amid  the  murderous  din. 

Where  still  your  battle-flags  unbended  wave. 

Dying  for  what  your  fathers  died  to  win 
And  you  must  fight  to  save. 

Ho  ! shrilly  fifes  that  stir  the  vales  from  sleep. 

Ho  I brazen  thunders  from  the  mountains  hoar ; 

The  very  waves  are  marshaling  on  the  deep. 

While  tempests  tread  the  shore. 

Arise  and  swear,  your  palm-engirdled  land 

Shall  burial  only  yield  a bandit  foe  ; 

Then  spring  upon  the  caitiffs,  steel  in  hand. 

And  strike  the  fated  blow. 


224 


tVAI^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  OATH  OF  FREEDOM. 

By  James  Bareon  Hope. 

^ORN  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live  ; 

By  Heaven  we  will  be  free  ! 

By  all  the  stars  which  burn  on  high — 

By  the  green  earth — the  mighty  sea — 

By  God’s  unshaken  majesty, 

We  will  be  free  or  die  ! 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  I 
Let  all  the  trumpets  blow  ! 

Mind,  heart,  and  soul, 

We  spurn  control 
Attempted  by  a foe  1 

Born  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live ; 

By  Heaven  we  will  be  free ! 

And  vainly  now  the  Northmen  try 
To  beat  us  down — in  arms  we  stand 
To  strike  for  this  our  native  land  I 
We  will  be  free  or  die  1 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  I etc.,  etc. 

Born  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live : 

By  Heaven  we  will  be  free ! 

Our  wives  and  children  look  on  high, 

Pray  God  to  smile  upon  the  right ! 

And  bid  us  in  the  deadly  fight 
As  freemen  live  or  die  I 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll ! etc.,  etc. 

Born  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live  : 

By  Heaven  we  will  be  free  I 
And  ere  we  cease  this  battle-cry. 

Be  all  our  blood,  our  kindred’s  spilt, 

On  bayonet  or  sabre  hilt ! 

We  will  be  free  or  die  ! 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  I etc.,  etc. 


lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


225 


Born  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live  : 

By  Heaven  we  will  be  free  I 
Defiant  let  the  banners  fly, 

Shake  out  their  glories  to  the  air, 

And,  kneeling,  brothers,  let  us  swear 
We  will  be  free  or  die  I 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll,  etc.,  etc.  • 

Born  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live  : 

By  Heaven  we  will  be  free  ! 

And  to  this  oath  the  dead  reply — 

Our  valiant  fathers’  sacred  ghosts — 

These  with  us,  and  the  God  of  hosts. 

We  will  be  free  or  die ! 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  I etc.,  etc. 


ENLISTED  TO-DAY. 

Jknow  the  sun  shines,  and  the  lilacs  are  blowing, 

And  summer  sends  kisses  by  beautiful  May — 

Oh  I to  see  all  the  treasures  the  spring  is  bestowing, 

And  think — my  boy  Willie  enlisted  to-day. 

It  seems  but  a day  since  at  twilight,  low  humming, 

I rocked  him  to  sleep  with  his  cheek  upon  mine. 

While  Bobby,  the  four-year  old,  watched  for  the  coming 
Of  father,  adown  the  street’s  indistinct  line. 

It  is  many  a year  since  my  Harry  departed. 

To  come  back  no  more  in  the  twilight  or  dawn  ; 

And  Bobby  grew  weary  of  watching,  and  started 
Alone  on  the  journey  his  father  had  gone. 


15 


226 


WAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


It  is  many  a year — and  this  afternoon  sitting 

At  Hobby’s  old  window,  I heard  the  band  play, 

And  suddenly  ceased  dreaming  over  my  knitting. 

To  recollect  Willie  is  twenty  to-day. 

And  that,  standing  beside  him  this  soft  May-day  morning, 
And  the  sun  making  gold  of  his  wreathed  cigar  smoke, 

I saw  in  his  sweet  eyes  and  lips  a faint  warning, 

And  choked  down  the  tears  when  he  eagerly  spoke : • 

Dear  mother,  you  know  how  these  Northmen  are  crowing. 
They  would  trample  the  rights  of  the  South  in  the  dust, 
The  boys  are  all  fire ; and  they  wish  I were  going — ” 

He  stopped,  but  his  eyes  said,  “ Oh,  say  if  I must ! ” 

I smiled  on  the  boy,  though  my  heart  it  seemed  breaking. 
My  eyes  filled  with  tears,  so  I turned  them  away. 

And  answered  him,  Willie,  Tis  well  you  are  waking — 

Go,  act  as  your  father  would  bid  you,  to-day  I ” 

I sit  in  the  window,  and  see  the  flags  flying. 

And  drearily  list  to  the  roll  of  the  drum. 

And  smother  the  pain  in  my  heart  that  is  lying, 

And  bid  all  the  fears  in  my  bosom  be  dumb. 

I shall  sit  in  the  window  when  summer  is  lying 
Out  over  the  fields,  and  the  honey-bee’s  hum 
Lulls  the  rose  at  the  porch  from  her  tremulous  sighing, 

And  watch  for  the  face  of  my  darling  to  come. 

And  if  he  should  fall — his  young  life  he  has  given 

F or  freedom’s  sweet  sake ; and  for  me,  I will  pray 
Once  more  with  my  Harry  and  Hobby  in  Heaven 
To  meet  the  dear  boy  that  enlisted  to-day. 


IFAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


227 


‘^WOULDST  THOU  HAVE  ME  LOVE  THEE?^' 
By  Alex.  B.  Meek. 

ouLDST  thou  have  me  love  thee,  dearest  I 
With  a woman’s  proudest  heart. 

Which  shall  ever  hold  thee  nearest, 

Shrined  in  its  inmost  part  ? 

Listen,  then  I My  country’s  calling 
On  her  sons  to  meet  the  foe  ! 

Leave  these  groves  of  rose  and  myrtle  ; 

Drop  thy  dreamy  harp  of  love  I 
Like  young  Korner — scorn  the  turtle, 

When  the  eagle  screams  above  I 

Dost  thou  pause  ? — Let  dastards  dally — 
Do  thou  for  thy  country  fight ! 
’Neath  her  noble  emblem  rally — 

God,  our  country,  and  our  right  I ” 
Listen  I now  her  trumpet’s  calling 
On  her  sons  to  meet  the  foe  1 
Woman’s  heart  is  soft  and  tender. 

But  ’tis  proud  and  faithful,  too  ; 
Shall  she  be  her  land’s  defender  ? 

Lover  I Soldier  I up  and  do  I 

Seize  thy  father’s  ancient  falchion, 

Which  once  fiashed  as  freedom’s  star  I 
Till  sweet  peace — the  bow  and  halcyon. 

Stilled  the  stormy  strife  of  war. 

Listen  ! now  thy  country’s  calling 
On  her  sons  to  meet  her  foe  I 
Sweet  is  love  in  moonlight  bowers  I 
Sweet  the  altar  and  the  flame  ! 

Sweet  the  spring-time  with  her  flowers  I 
Sweeter  far  the  patriot’s  name  ! 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Should  the  God  who  smiles  above  thee, 
Doom  thee  to  a soldier's  grave, 

Hearts  will  break,  but  fame  will  love  thee, 
Canonized  among  the  brave  ! 

Listen , then  I thy  country’s  calling 
On  her  sons  to  meet  the  foe  1 
Eather  would  I view  thee  lying 
On  the  last  red  field  of  strife, 

’Mid  thy  country’s  heroes  dving, 

Than  become  a dastard’s  wife  I 


THE  WAE-CHRISTIAN’S  THANKSGIVING. 

By  George  H.  Miles,  of  Baltimore. 

God  of  battles  ! once  again. 

With  banner,  trump,  and  drum. 

And  garments  in  the  wine-press  dyed, 

To  give  Thee  thanks  we  come. 

No  goats  or  bullocks  garlanded. 

Unto  Thine  altars  go  ; 

With  brothers’  blood,  by  brothers  shed. 
Our  glad  libations  flow. 

From  pest-house  and  from  dungeon  foul. 

Where,  maimed  and  torn,  they  die. 

From  gory  trench  and  charnel-house. 

Where,  heap  on  heap,  they  lie. 

In  every  groan  that  yields  a soul. 

Each  shriek  a heart  that  rends. 
With  every  breath  of  tainted  air, 

Our  homage.  Lord,  ascends. 


GENERAL  JOHN  B.  HOOD  GENERAL  N.  B-  FORREST 


^VA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


229 


We  thank  Thee  for  the  sabre’s  gash, 

The  cannon’s  havoc  wild  ; 

We  bless  Thee  for  the  widow’s  tears, 

The  want  that  starves  her  child  I 

We  give  Thee  praise  that  Thou  hast  lit 
The  torch,  and  fanned  the  flame  ; 

That  lust  and  rapine  hunt  their  prey. 

Kind  Father,  in  Thy  name  I 

That,  for  the  songs  of  idle  joy 
False  angels  sang  of  yore. 

Thou  sendest  War  on  earth — ill-will 
To  men  for  evermore  ! 

We  know  that  wisdom,  truth  and  right 
To  us  and  ours  are  given  ; 

That  Thou  hast  clothed  us  with  the  wrath. 
To  do  the  work  of  Heaven. 

We  know  that  plains  and  cities  waste 
Are  pleasant  in  Thine  eyes — 

Thou  lov’st  a hearthstone  desolate, 

Thou  lov’st  a mourner’s  cries. 

Let  not  our  weakness  fall  below 
The  measure  of  Thy  will. 

And  while  the  press  hath  wine  to  bleed. 
Oh,  tread  it  with  us  still ! 

Teach  us  to  hate — as  Jesus  taught 
Fond  fools,  of  yore,  to  love ; 

Give  us  Thy  vengeance  as  our  own— 

Thy  pity,  hide  above  ! 

Teach  us  to  turn,  with  reeking  hands. 

The  pages  of  Thy  Word, 

And  learn  the  blessed  curses  there, 

On  them  that  sheathe  the  sword. 


230 


WA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Where’er  we  tread  may  deserts  spring, 
’Till  none  are  left  to  slay  ; 

And  when  the  last  red  drop  is  shed, 
We’ll  kneel  again — and  pray  I 


THE  GOOD  OLD  CAUSE. 

By  John  D.  Phelan. 

J^uzzA  ! huzza  ! for  the  Good  Old  Cause, 

’Tis  a stirring  sound  to  hear, 

For  it  tells  of  rights  and  liberties, 

Our  fathers  bought  so  dear ; 

It  brings  up  the  Jersey  prison-ship, 

The  spot  where  Warren  fell, 

And  the  scaffold  which  echoes  the  dying  words 
Of  murdered  Hayne’s  farewell. 

The  Good  Old  Cause  ! It  is  still  the  same 
Though  age  upon  age  may  roll ; 

’Tis  the  cause  of  the  right  against  the  wrong. 
Burning  bright  in  each  generous  soul ; 

’Tis  the  cause  of  all  who  claim  to  live 
As  freemen  on  F reedom’s  sod  ; 

Of  the  widow,  who  wails  her  husband  and  sons. 
By  Tyranny’s  heel  down-trod. 

And  whoever  burns  with  a lioly  zeal, 

To  behold  his  country  free. 

And  would  sooner  see  her  baptized  in  blood, 

Than  to  bend  the  suppliant  knee  ; 

Must  agree  to  follow  her  White-Cross  flag, 

Where  the  storms  of  battle  roll, 

A soldier — a soldier  ! — with  arms  in  his  hands, 

And  the  love  of  the  South  in  his  soul  I 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


231 


Come  one,  come  all,  at  your  country’s  call, 

• Let  none  remain  behind. 

But  those  too  young,  and  those  too  old, 

The  feeble,  the  halt,  the  blind; 

Let  every  man,  whether  rich  or  poor, 

Who  can  carry  a knapsack  and  gun, 

Repair  to  the  ranks  of  our  Southern  host, 

’Till  the  cause  of  the  South  is  won. 

But  the  son  of  the  South,  if  such  there  be, 

Who  will  shrink  from  the  contest  now, 
From  a love  of  ease,  or  the  lust  of  gain. 

Or  through  fear  of  the  Yankee  foe  ; 

May  his  neighbors  shrink  from  his  proffered  hand, 
As  though  it  was  soiled  for  aye. 

And  may  every  woman  turn  her  cheek 
From  his  craven  lips  away; 

May  his  country’s  curse  be  on  his  head, 

And  may  no  man  ever  see, 

A gentle  bride  oy  the  traitor’s  side. 

Or  children  about  his  knee. 

Huzza  ! huzza  I for  the  Good  Old  Cause, 

’Tis  a stirring  sound  to  hear ; 

For  it  tells  of  rights  and  liberties. 

Our  fathers  bought  so  dear  ; 

It  summons  our  braves  from  their  bloody  graves, 

To  receive  our  fond  applause, 

And  bids  us  tread  in  the  steps  of  those 
Who  died  for  the  Good  Old  Cause. 


232 


IVAJH  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


YOU  CAN  NEVER  WIN  THEM  BACK. 
By  Catherine  M.  Warfield. 

'Y' C)U  can  never  win  them  back, 
never  ! never  I 
Though  they  perish  on  the  track 

of  your  endeavor ; 

Though  their  corpses  strew  the  earth 
That  smiled  upon  their  birth, 

And  blood  pollutes  each  hearth- 
stone forever  I 

They  have  risen  to  a man, 

stern  and  fearless ; 
Of  your  curses  and  your  ban 

they  are  careless. 
Every  hand  is  on  its  knife ; 

Every  gun  is  primed  for  strife  ; 

Every  palm  contains  a life, 

high  and  peerless. 

You  have  no  such  blood  as  theirs 

for  the  shedding. 

In  the  veins  of  Cavaliers 

was  its  heading. 

A"ou  have  no  such  stately  men 
In  your  abolition  den, 

To  march  through  foe  and  fen, 

nothiag  dreading. 

They  may  fall  before  the  fire 

of  your  legions. 

Paid  in  gold  for  murd’rous  hire — 

bought  allegiance  ! 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


233 


But  for  every  drop  you  shed 
You  shall  leave  a mound  of  dead  ; 

And  the  vultures  shall  be  fed 

in  our  regions. 

But  the  battle  to  the  strong 

is  not  given, 

While  the  Judge  of  right  and  wrong 
sits  in  Heaven  I 

And  the  God  of  David  still 

Guides  each  pebble  by  His  will ; 

There  are  giants  yet  to  kill — 

wrongs  unshriven. 


CHARLESTON. 

By  Henry  Timrod. 

^ALM  as  that  second  summer  which  precedes 
The  first  fall  of  the  snow, 

In  the  broad  sunlight  of  heroic  deeds 
The  city  hides  the  foe. 

As  yet,  behind  their  ramparts,  stern  and  proud, 
Her  bolted  thunders  sleep — 

Dark  Sumter,  like  a battlemented  cloud, 

Looms  o’er  the  solemn  deep. 

No  Calpe  frowns  from  lofty  cliff  or  scaur 
To  guard  the  holy  strand  ; 

But  Moultrie  holds  in  leash  her  dogs  of  war. 

Above  the  level  sand. 

And  down  the  dunes  a thousand  guns  lie  crouched. 
Unseen,  beside  the  flood — 

Like  tigers  in  some  Orient  jungle  crouched, 

That  wait  and  watch  for  blood. 


234 


lVAJ^  SOJVGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Meanwhile,  through  streets  still  echoing  with  trade, 

Walk  grave  and  thoughtful  men. 

Whose  hands  may  one  day  wield  the  patriot’s  blade 
As  lightly  as  the  pen. 

And  maidens,  with  such  eyes  as  would  grow  dim 
Over  a bleeding  hound, 

Seem,  each  one,  to  have  caught  the  strength  of  him, 
Whose  sword  she  sadly  bound. 

Thus  girt  without  and  garrisoned  at  home. 

Day  patient  following  day. 

Old  Charleston  looks  from  roof,  and  spire,  and  dome. 

Across  her  tranquil  bay. 

Ships,  through  a hundred  foes,  from  Saxon  lands 
And  spicy  Indian  ports. 

Bring  Saxon  steel  and  iron  to  her  hands, 

And  summer  to  her  courts. 

But  still  along  yon  dim  Atlantic  line. 

The  only  hostile  smoke 

Creeps  like  a harmless  mist  above  the  brine, 

From  some  frail,  floating  oak. 

Shall  the  spring  dawn,  and  she  still  clad  in  smiles, 
And  with  an  unscathed  brow. 

Rest  in  the  strong  arms  of  her  palm-crowned  isles, 
As  fair  and  free  as  now  ? 

We  know  not;  in  the  temple  of  the  Fates 
God  has  inscribed  her  doom  ; 

And,  all  un-troubled  in  her  faith,  she  waits 
The  triumph  or  the  tomb. 


IV A J?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


235 


THE  COTTON  BOLL. 

By  Henry  Timrod. 

I recline 
At  ease  beneath 
This  immemorial  pine 
Small  sphere  ! — 

By  dusky  fingers  brought  this  morning  here, 

And  shown  with  boastful  smiles, — 

I turn  thy  cloven  sheath, 

Through  which  the  soft  white  fibres  peer, 

That,  with  their  gossamer  bands. 

Unite,  like  love,  the  sea-divided  lands. 

And  slowly,  thread  by  thread. 

Draw  forth  the  folded  strands, 

Than  which  the  trembling  line. 

By  whose  frail  help  yon  startled  spider  fled 
Down  the  tall  spear-grass  from  his  swinging  bed. 

Is  scarce  more  fine ; 

And  as  the  tangled  skein 
Unravels  in  my  hands. 

Betwixt  me  and  the  noonday  light, 

A veil  seems  lifted,  and  for  miles  and  miles 
The  landscape  broadens  on  my  sight. 

As,  in  the  little  boll,  there  lurked  a spell 
Like  that  which,  in  the  ocean  shell. 

With  mystic  sound. 

Breaks  down  the  narrow  walls  that  hem  us  round. 
And  turns  some  city  lane 
Into  the  restless  main. 

With  all  his  capes  and  isles  I 

Yonder  bird, — 

Which  floats,  as  if  at  rest. 

In  those  blue  tracts  above  the  thunder,  where 


236 


IVAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


No  vapors  cloud  the  stainless  air, 

And  never  sound  is  heard, 

Unless  at  such  rare  time 
When,  from  the  City  of  the  Blest 
Rings  down  some  golden  chime, — 

Sees  not  from  his  high  place 

So  vast  a cirque  of  summer  space 

As  widens  round  me  in  one  mighty  field. 

Which,  rimmed  by  seas  and  sands. 

Doth  hail  its  earliest  daylight  in  the  beams 
Of  gray  Atlantic  dawns  ; 

And,  broad  as  realms  made  up  of  many  lands. 

Is  lost  afar 

Behind  the  crimson  hills  and  purple  lawns 
Of  sunset,  among  plains  which  roll  their  streams 
Against  the  Evening  Star  ! 

And  lo  ! 

To  the  remotest  point  of  sight. 

Although  I gaze  upon  no  waste  of  snow, 

The  endless  field  is  white  ; 

And  the  whole  landscape  glows. 

For  many  a shining  league  away, 

With  such  accumulated  light 

As  Polar  lands  would  flash  beneath  a tropic  day  ! 

Nor  lack  there  (for  the  vision  grows,  , 

And  the  small  charm  within  my  hands — 

More  potent  even  than  the  fabled  one, 

AVhich  oped  whatever  golden  mystery 
Lay  hid  in  fairy  wood  or  magic  vale, 

The  curious  ointment  of  the  Arabian  tale — 

Beyond  all  mortal  sense 

Doth  stretch  my  sight’s  horizon,  and  I see 

Beneath  its  siniple  influence, 

As  if,  with  Uriel’s  crown, 

I stood  in  some  great  temple  of  the  Sun, 


GENERAL  STERLI  NG  PRICE  GENERAL  JOHN  B.  GORDON 

From  Photograph  taken  during  the  War. 


tVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


237 


And  looked,  as  Uriel,  down) — 

Nor  lack  there  pastures  rich  and  fields  all  green 
With  all  the  common  gifts  of  God,  . 

With  temperate  airs  and  torrid  sheen 
Weave  Edens  of  the  sod; 

Through  lands  which  look  one  sea  of  billowy  gold 
Broad  rivers  wind  their  devious  ways  ; 

A hundred  isles  in  their  embraces  fold 
A hundred  luminous  bays ; 

And  through  yon  purple  haze 

Vast  mountains  lift  their  plumed  peaks  cloud-crowned  ; 
And,  save  where  up  their  sides  the  ploughman  creeps. 
An  unknown  forest  girds  them  grandly  round. 

In  whose  dark  shades  a future  navy  sleeps  ! 

Ye  stars,  which  though  unseen,  yet  with  me  gaze 
Upon  this  loveliest  fragment  of  the  earth  ! 

Thou  Sun,  that  kind  lest  all  thy  gentlest  rays 
Above  it,  as  to  light  a favorite  hearth  f 
Ye  coulds,  that  in  your  temples  in  the  West 
See  nothing  brighter  than  its  humblest  flowers  ! 

And,  you,  ye  Winds,  that  on  the  ocean’s  breast 
Are  kissed  to  coolness  ere  ye  reach  its  bowers ! 

Bear  witness  with  me  in  my  song  of  praise. 

And  tell  the  world  that,  since  the  world  began, 

No  fairer  land  hath  fired  a poet’s  lays. 

Or  given  a home  to  man  ! 

But  these  are  charms  already  widely  blown  I 
His  be  the  meed  whose  pencil’s  trace 
Hath  touched  our  very  swamps  with  grace, 

And  round  whose  tuneful  way 
All  Southern  laurels  bloom ; 

The  Poet  of  The  Woodlands,”  unto  whom 
Alike  are  known 

The  flute’s  low  breathing  and  the  trumpet’s  tone, 


238 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  the  soft  west- wind’s  sighs  : 

But  who  shall  utter  all  the  debt, 

O Land  ! wherein  all  powers  are  met 
That  bind  a people’s  heart, 

The  world  doth  owe  thee  at  this  day, 

And  which  it  never  can  repay, 

Yet  scarcely  deigns  to  own  1 
\Yhere  sleeps  the  poet  who  shall  fitly  sing 
The  source  wherefrom  doth  spring 
That  mighty  commerce  which,  confined 
To  the  mean  channels  of  no  selfish  mart. 

Goes  out  to  every  shore 

Of  this  broad  earth,  and  throngs  the  sea  with  ships 
That  bear  no  thunders  ; hushes  hungry  lips 
In  alien  lands  ; 

Joins  with  a delicate  web  remotest  strands; 

And  gladdening  rich  and  poor. 

Doth  gild  Parisian  domes. 

Or  feed  the  cottage-smoke  of  English  homes. 

And  only  bounds  its  blessings  by  mankind  I 
In  offices  like  these,  thy  mission  lies, 

My  Country  I and  it  shall  not  end 
As  long  as  rain  shall  fall  and  Heaven  bend 
In  blue  above  thee  ; though  thy  foes  be  hard 
And  cruel  as  their  weapons,  it  shall  guard 
Thy  hearthstones  as  a bulwark ; make  thee  great 
In  w’hite  and  bloodless  state; 

And,  haply,  as  the  years  increase — 

Still  working  through  its  humbler  reach 
With  that  large  wisdom  which  the  ages  teach — 
Revive  the  half-dead  dream  of  universal  peace  I 

As  men  who  labor  in  that  mine 
Of  Cornwall,  hollowed  out  beneath  the  bed 
Of  ocean,  when  a storm  rolls  overhead, 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


239 


Hear  the  dull  booming  of  the  world  of  brine 
Above  them,  and  a mighty  muffled  roar 
Of  winds  and  waters,  and  yet  toil  calmly  on, 

And  split  the  rock,  and  pile  the  massive  ore, 

Or  carve  a niche,  or  shape  the  arched  roof ; 

So  I,  as  calmly,  weave  my  woof 
Of  song,  chanting  the  days  to  come. 

Unsilenced,  though  the  quiet  summer  air 
Stirs  with  the  bruit  of  battles,  and  each  dawn 
Wakes  from  its  starry  silence  to  the  hum 
Of  many  gathering  armies.  Still, 

In  that  we  sometimes  hear, 

Upon  the  Northern  winds  the  voice  of  woe 
Not  wholly  drowned  in  triumph,  though  I know 
The  end  must  crown  us,  and  a few  brief  years 
Dry  all  our  tears, 

I may  sing  too  gladly.  To  Thy  will 
Resigned,  O Lord  1 we  cannot  all  forget 
That  there  is  much  even  Victory  must  regret. 

And,  therefore,  not  too  long 

From  the  great  burden  of  our  country’s  wrong 

Delay  our  just  release  1 

And,  if  it  may  be,  save 

These  sacred  fields  of  peace 

From  stain  of  patriot  or  of  hostile  blood  I 

Oh,  help  us.  Lord  I to  roll  the  crimson  fiood 

Back  on  its  course,  and,  while  our  banners  wing 

Northward,  strike  with  us  ! till  the  Goth  shall  cling 

To  his  own  blasted  altar  stones,  and  crave 

Mercy  ; and  we  shall  grant  it,  and  dictate 

The  lenient  future  of  his  fate 

There,  where  some  rotting  ships  and  trembling  quays 
Shall  one  day  mark  the  Port  which  ruled  the  Western  seas. 


240 


lVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  BATTLE  OF  CHAELESTON  HARBOR. 

April  7th,  1863. 

By  Paul  H.  Hayne. 

hours,  or  more,  beyond  the  prime  of  a blithe  April  day, 
The  Northman’s  mailed  Invincibles”  steamed  up  fair 
Charleston  Bay  ; 

They  came  in  sullen  file,  and  slow,  low-breasted  on  the  wave, 
Black  as  a midnight  front  of  storm,  and  silent  as  the  grave. 

A thousand  warrior-hearts  beat  high  as  those  dread  monsters 
drew 

More  closely  to  the  game  of  death  across  the  breezeless  blue. 
And  twice  ten  thousand  hearts  of  those  who  watched  the 
scene  afar. 

Thrill  in  the  awful  hush  that  bides  the  battle’s  broadening  Star ! 

Each  gunner,  moveless  by  his  gun,  with  rigid  aspect  stands. 
The  ready  linstocks  firmly  grasped  in  bold,  untrembling  hands, 
So  moveless  in  their  marbled  calm,  their  stern  heroic  guise. 
They  looked  like  forms  of  statued  stone  with  burning  human 
eyes  1 

Our  banners  on  the  outmost  walls,  with  stately  rustling  fold. 
Flash  back  from  arch  and  parapet  the  sunlight’s  ruddy  gold — 
They  mount  to  the  deep  roll  of  drums,  and  widely-echoing 
cheers, 

And  then — once  more,  dark,  breathless,  hushed,  wait  the  grim 
cannoneers. 

Onward — in  sullen  file,  and  slow,  low  glooming  on  the  wave, 
Near,  nearer  still,  the  haughty  fleet  glides  silent  as  the  grave, 
When  sudden,  shivering  up  the  calm,  o’er  startled  flood  and 
shore. 

Burst  from  the  sacred  Island  Fort  the  thunder-wrath  of  yore  I 


241 


tVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Ha  ! brutal  Corsairs  I tho’  ye  come  thrice-cased  in  iron  mail, 

Beware  the  storm  that’s  opening  now,  God’s  vengeance  guides 
the  hail ! 

Ye  strive  the  ruffian  types  of  might  ’gainst  law,  and  truth, 
and  right, 

Now  quail  beneath  a sturdier  power,  and  own  a mightier 
might  I 

No  empty  boast  I for  while  we  speak,  more  furious,  wilder, 
higher. 

Dart  from  the  circling  batteries  a hundred  tongues  of  fire. 

The  waves  gleam  red,  the  lurid  vault  of  heaven  seems  rent 
above. 

Fight  on  ! oh  I knightly  gentlemen  I for  faith,  and  home,  and 
love  ! 

There’s  not  in  all  that  line  of  flame,  one  soul  that  would  not 
rise. 

To  seize  the  Victor’s  wreath  of  blood,  tho’  Death  must  give 
the  prize — 

There’s  not  in  all  this  anxious  crowd  that  throngs  the  ancient 
town, 

A maid  who  does  not  yearn  for  power  to  strike  one  despot 
'own. 

The  strife  grows  fiercer  1 ship  by  ship  ‘the  proud  Armada 
sweeps. 

Where  hot  from  Sumter’s  raging  breast  the  volleyed  lightning 
leaps  ; 

And  ship  by  ship,  raked,  overborne,  ’ere  burned  the  sunset 
bloom. 

Crawls  seaward,  like  a hangman’s  hearse  bound  to  his  felon 
tomb  ! 


16 


242 


IVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Oh  [ glorious  Empress  of  the  Main  ! from  out  thy  storied 
spires, 

Thou  well  may’st  peal  thy  bells  of  joy,  and  light  thy  festal 
fires — 

Since  Heaven  this  day  hath  striven  for  thee,  hath  nerved  thy 
dauntless  sons. 

And  thou,  in  clear-eyed  faith  hast  seen  God’s  angels  near  the 
guns  I 


SUMTER  IN  RUINS. 

By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 

Y"e  batter  down  the  lion’s  den. 

But  yet  the  lordly  beast  goes  free  ; 

And  ye  shall  hear  his  roar  again. 

From  mountain  height,  from  lowland  glen, 

From  sandy  shore  and  reedy  fen — 

Where’er  a band  of  freeborn  men 
Bears  sacred  shrines  to  liberty. 

The  serpent  scales  the  eagle’s  nest, 

And  yet  the  royal  bird  in  air. 
Triumphant  wins  the  mountain’s  crest. 
And  sworn  for  strife,  yet  takes  his  rest. 
And  plumes,  to  calm,  his  ruffled  breast, 
Till,  like  a storm-bolt  from  the  West, 

■ He  strikes  the  invader  in  his  lair. 

What’s  loss  of  den,  or  nest,  or  home, 

If,  like  the  lion,  free  to  go ; — 

If,  like  the  eagle,  wing’d  to  roam. 

We  span  the  rock  and  breast  the  foam. 

Still  watchful  for  the  hour  of  doom, 

When,  with  the  knell  of  thunder-boom. 

We  bound  upon  the  serpent  foe  J 


WAId  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


243 


Oh  I noble  sons  of  lion  heart ! 

Oh  ! gallant  hearts  of  eagle  wing  ! 

What  though  your  batter’d  bulwarks  part, 

Your  nest  be  spoiled  by  reptile  art — 

Your  souls,  on  wings  of  hate,  shall  start 
For  vengeance,  and  with  lightning-dart, 

Rend  the  foul  serpent  ere  he  sting  I 

Your  battered  den,  your  shattered  nest, 

Was  but  the  lion’s  crouching  place  ; — 
It  heard  his  roar,  and  bore  his  crest. 

His,  or  the  eagle’s  place  of  rest ; — 

But  not  the  soul  in  either  breast ! 

This  arms  the  twain,  by  freedom  bless’d, 

To  save  and  to  avenge  their  race ! 


FORT  WAGNER. 

By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 

^^LORY  unto  the  gallant  boys  who  stood 

At  Wagner,  and,  unflinching,  sought  the  van; 
Dealing  fierce  blows,  and  shedding  precious  blood. 

For  homes  as  precious,  and  dear  rights  of  man  I 
They’ve  won  the  meed,  and  they  shall  have  the  glory  ; 

Song,  with  melodious  memories,  shall  repeat 
The  legend,  which  shall  grow  to  themes  for  story, 

Told  through  long  ages,  and  forever  sweet  I 


High  honor  to  our  youth — our  sons  and  brothers, 
Georgians  and  Carolinians,  where  they  stand  I 
They  will  not  shame  their  birthrights,  or  their  mothers. 
But  keep,  through  storm,  the  bulwarks  of  the  land  1 
They  feel  that  they  must  conquer  ! Not  to  do  it. 

Were  worse  than  death — perdition  ! Should  they  fail. 
The  innocent  races  yet  unborn  shall  rue  it. 

The  whole  world  feel  the  wound,  and  nations  wail  I 


244 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


No  ! They  must  conquer  in  the  breach  or  perish  I 
Assured  in  the  last  consciousness  of  breath, 

That  love  shall  deck  their  graves,  and  memory  cherish 
Their  deeds,  with  honors  that  shall  sweeten  death  1 
They  shall  have  trophies  in  long  future  hours. 

And  loving  recollections,  which  shall  be 
Green  as  the  summer  leaves,  and  fresh  as  flowers, 

That,  through  all  seasons,  bloom  eternally  I 

Their  memories  shall  be  monuments,  to  rise 
Next  those  of  mightiest  martyrs  of  the  past ; 

Beacons,  when  angry  tempests  sweep  the  skies, 

And  feeble  souls  bend  crouching  to  the  blast  ! 

A shrine  for  thee,  young  Cheves,  well  devoted, 

Most  worthy  of  a great,  illustrious  sire  ; — 

A niche  for  thee,  young  Haskell,  nobly  noted. 

When  skies  and  seas  around  thee  shook  with  fire  I 

And  others  as  well  chronicled  shall  be  I 

What  though  they  fell  with  unrecorded  name — 
They  live  among  the  archives  of  the  free, 

With  proudest  title  to  undying  fame  I 
Th?.  unchisell’d  marble  under  which  they  sleep. 

Shall  tell  of  heroes,  fearless  still  of  fate  ; 

Not  asking  if  their  memories  shall  keep, 

But  if  the}^  nobly  served,  and  saved  the  State  I 

For  thee,  young  Fortress  Wagner — thou  shalt  wear 
Green  laurels,  worthy  of  the  names  that  now. 

Thy  sister  forts  of  Moultrie,  Sumter,  bear  I 
See  that  thou  lifflst,  for  aye,  as  proud  a brow  I 
And  thou  shalt  be,  to  future  generations, 

A trophied  monument,  whither  men  shall  come 
In  homage,  and  report  to  distant  nations, 

A shrine,  which  foes  shall  never  make  a tomb  ! 


GENERAL  G.  T.  BEAUREGARD  GENERAL  JOSEPH  E.  JOHNSTON 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


245 


MORRIS  ISLAND. 

By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 

I from  the  deeds  well  done,  the  blood  well  shed 
In  a good  cause  springs  up  to  crown  the  land 
With  ever-during  verdure,  memory  fed, 

Wherever  freedom  rears  one  fearless  band, 

The  genius  which  makes  sacred  time  and  place, 
Shaping  the  grand  memorials  of  a race  ! 

The  barren  rock  becomes  a monument. 

The  sea-shore  sands  a shrine  ; 

And  each  brave  life,  in  desperate  conflict  spent. 
Growls  to  a memory  which  prolongs  a line  ! 

Oh  ! barren  isle — oh  I fruitless  shore. 

Oil ! realm  devoid  of  beauty — how  the  light 
From  glory’s  sun  streams  down  for  evermore. 

Hallowing  your  ancient  barrenness  with  bright ! 

Brief  dates,  your  lowly  forts ; but  full  of  glory. 
Worthy  a life-long  story  ; 

Remembered  to  be  chronicled  and  read. 

When  all  your  gallant  garrisons  are  dead ; 

And  to  be  sung 

While  liberty  and  letters  find  a tongue  I 

Taught  by  the  grandsires  at  the  ingle-blaze, 

Through  the  long  winter  night ; 

Pored  over,  memoried  well,  in  winter  days. 

While  youthful  admiration,  with  delight. 

Hangs,  breathless,  o’er  the  tale,  with  silent  praise ; 
Seasoning  delight  with  wonder,  as  he  reads 
Of  stubborn  conflict  and  audacious  deeds ; 

Watching  the  endurance  of  the  free  and  brave, 
Through  the  protracted  struggle  and  doe©  fi^Rt, 


246 


lVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Contending  for  the  lands  they  may  not  save, 

Against  the  felon  and  innumerous  foe  ; 

Still  struggling,  though  each  rampart  proves  a grave, 
For  home,  and  all  that’s  dear  to  man  below  I 

Earth  reels  and  ocean  rocks  at  every  blow ; 

But  still  undaunted,  with  a martyr’s  might, 

They  make  for  man  a new  Thermopylse  ; 
And  perishing  for  freedom,  still  go  free  ! 

Let  but  each  humble  islet  of  our  coast 
Thus  join  the  terrible  issue  to  the  last ; 

And  never  shall  the  invader  make  his  boast 
Of  triumph,  though  with  mightiest  panoply 

He  seeks  to  rend  and  rive,  to  blight  and  blast  I 


SACRIFICE. 

^^/^NOTHER  victim  for  the  sacrifice  I 
Oh  ! my  owm  mother  South, 

How  terrible  this  wail  above  thy  youth, 

Ikying  at  the  cannon’s  mouth, — 

And  for  no  crime — no  vice — 

No  scheme  of  selfish  greed — no  avarice. 

Or  insolent  ambition,  seeking  power; — 

But  that,  with  resolute  soul  and  will  sublime, 

They  made  their  proud  election  to  be  free, — 

To  leave  a grand  inheritance  to  time. 

And  to  their  sons  and  race,  of  liberty  ! 

Oh  I widow’d  woman,  sitting  in  thy  weeds, 

AVith  thy  young  brood  around  thee,  sad  and  lone — 
d’liy  fancy  sees  thy  hero  where  he  bleeds. 

And  still  thou  hear’st  his  moan  I 
Dying,  he  calls  on  thee — again — again  ! 

AVith  blessing  and  fond  memories.  Be  of  cheer  ; 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


247 


He  has  not  died — he  did  not  bless — in  vain  ; 

For,  in  the  eternal  rounds  of  God,  He  squares 

The  account  with  sorrowing  hearts  ; and  soothes  the  fears, 

And  leads  the  orphans  home,  and  dries  the  widow’s  tears. 


CAEOLINA. 

By  Anna  Peyre  Dinnies. 

J^N  the  hour  of  thy  glory, 

When  thy  name  was  far  renowned, 

When  Sumter’s  glowing  story 

Thy  bright  escutcheon  crowned  ; 

Oh,  noble  Carolina  I how  proud  a claim  was  mine. 

That  through  homage  and  through  duty,  and  birthright,  I 
was  thine. 

Exulting  as  I heard  thee, 

Of  every  lip  the  theme, 

Prophetic  visions  stirred  me, 

In  a hope-illumined  dream ; 

A dream  of  dauntless  valor,  of  battles  fought  and  won. 

Where  each  field  was  but  a triumph — a hero  every  son. 

And  now,  when  clouds  arise, 

And  shadows  round  thee  fall ; 

I lift  to  Heaven  my  eyes, 

Those  visions  to  recall ; 

For  I cannot  dream  that  darkness  will  rest  upon  thee  long. 

Oh,  lordly  Carolina  I with  thine  arms  and  hearts  so  strong. 

Thy  serried  ranks  of  pine. 

Thy  live  oaks  spreading  wide, 

Beneath  the  sunbeams  shine. 

In  fadeless  robes  of  pride  ; 

Thus  marshalled  on  their  native  soil  their  gallant  sons  stand 
forth. 

As  changeless  as  thy  forests  green,  defiant  of  the  North. 


248 


IVA/?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  deeds  of  other  days,  - 
Enacted  by  their  sires, 

Themes  long  of  love  and  praise, 

Have  wakened  high  desires 
In  every  heart  that  beats  within  thy  proud  domain, 

To  cherish  their  remembrance,  and  live  those  scenes  again. 

Each  heart  the  home  of  daring. 

Each  hand  the  foe  of  wrong. 

They’ll  meet  with  haughty  bearing. 

The  warship’s  thunder  song  ; 

And  though  the  base  invader  pollute  thy  sacred  shore. 

They’ll  greet  him  in  their  prowess  as  their  fathers  did  of  yore. 

His  feet  may  press  their  soil. 

Or  his  numbers  bear  them  down, 

In  his  vandal  raid  for  spoil. 

His  sordid  soul  to  crown  ; 

But  his  triumph  will  be  fleeting,  for  the  hour  is  drawing  near, 
When  the  war-cry  of  thy  cavaliers  shall  strike  his  startled  ear. 

A fearful  time  shall  come. 

When  thy  gathering  bands  unite. 

And  the  larum-sounding  drum 

Calls  to  struggle  for  the  Right ; 

Pro  aris  ei 'pro  focis,”  from  rank  to  rank  shall  fly, 

As  they  meet  the  cruel  foeman,  to  conquer  or  to  die. 

Oh,  then  a tale  of  glory 

Shall  yet  again  be  thine, 

And  the  record  of  thy  story 
The  Laurel  shall  entwine  ; 

Oh,  noble  Carolina,  of  proud  and  lordly  State  I 

Heroic  deeds  shall  crown  thee,  and  the  Nations  own  thee  great. 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


249 


\ 

«THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  CHURCH.’^ 

By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 

The  following  poem,  with  its  introduction,  is  given  as  it  came  to  me. 
It  reminds  one  of  the  old  story  of  “ God’s  Providence  Plouse  ” in  Chester, 
England.  At  the  time  of  a great  plague  in  that  ancient  city,  a prayer  was 
made  in  a particular  house,  and  the  promise  was  pleaded,  “ Neither  shall 
any  plague  come  nigh  thy  dwelling.”  The  family  in  the  house  was  saved 
from  the  plague,  and  to  this  day  the  old  habitation  stands  as  a testimony 
of  answered  prayer.  Such  a conviction  must  have  been  upon  the  mind  of 
the  author  of  this  poem,  who  wrote  the  Preface  and  the  Introduction.  He 
says : 

“ The  enemy,  from  his  camp  on  Morris  Island,  has,  in  frequent  letters 
in  the  Northern  papers,  avowed  the  object  at  which  they  aim  their  shells 
in  Charleston,  to  be  the  spire  of  St.  Michael’s  church.  Their  practice  shows 
that  these  avowals  are  true.  Thus  far,  they  have  not  succeeded  in  their 
aim.  Angels  of  the  Churches,  is  a phrase  applied  by  St.  John,  in  reference  to 
the  Seven  Churches  of  Asia.  The  Hebrews  recognized  an  Angel  of  the 
Church,  in  their  language,  ‘ Sheliack-Zibbor,’  whose  office  may  be  described 
as  that  of  a watcher  or  guardian  of  the  church.  Daniel  says,  iv,  13 : 
‘ Behold,  a watcher  and  a Holy  one  came  down  from  Heaven.’  The  prac- 
tice of  naming  churches  after  tutelary  saints,  originated,  no  doubt,  in  the 
conviction  that,  where  the  church  was  pure,  and  the  faith  true,  and  the 
congregation  pious,  these  guardian  angels,  so  chosen,  would  accept  the 
office  assigned  them.  They  were  generally  chosen  from  the  Seraphim  and 
Cherubim — those  who,  according  to  St.  Paul  (I  Colossians,  xvi),  represented 
thrones,  dominions,  principalities  and  powers.  According  to  the  Hebrew 
traditions,  St.  Michael  was  the  head  of  the  A.^st  order ; Gabriel,  of  the 
second  ; Urial,  of  the  third  ; and  Raphael,  of  the  fourth.  St.  Michael  is 
the  warrior-angel  who  led  the  hosts  of  the  sky  against  the  powers  of  the 
princes  of  the  air ; who  overthrew  the  dragon,  and  trampled  him  under 
foot.  The  destruction  of  the  Anaconda,  in  his  hands,  would  be  a smaller 
undertaking.  Assuming  for  our  people  a hope  not  less  rational  than  that 
of  the  people  of  Nineveh,  we  may  reasonably  build  upon  the  guardianship 
and  protection  of  God,  through  his  angels,  ‘ a great  city  of  sixty  thousand 
souls,  which  has  been  for  so  long  a season  the  subject  of  His  care.  These 
notes  will  supply  the  adequate  illustrations  for  the  ode  which  follows.” 

strike  with  sacrilegious  aim 
The  temple  of  the  living  God  ; 

Hurl  iron  bolt  and  seething  flame 

Through  aisles  which  holiest  feet  have  trod ; 


250 


JV^R  SOA^GS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Tear  up  the  altar,  spoil  the  tomb, 

And,  raging  with  demoniac  ire, 

Send  down,  in  sudden  crash  of  doom. 

That  grand,  old,  sky-sustaining  spire. 

That  spire,  for  full  a hundred  years. 

Hath  been  a people’s  point  of  sight ; 
That  shrine  hath  warmed  their  souls  to  tears, 
With  strains  well  worthy  Salem’s  height ; 
The  sweet,  clear  music  of  its  bells. 

Made  liquid  soft  in  Southern  air. 

Still  through  the  heart  of  memory  swells, 
And  wakes  the  hopeful  soul  to  prayer. 

Along  the  shores  for  many  a mile. 

Long  ere  they  owned  a beacon-mark. 

It  caught  and  kept  the  Day-God’s  smile, 

The  guide  for  every  wandering  bark ; 

Averting  from  our  homes  the  scaith 

Of  fiery  bolt,  in  storm-cloud  driven, 

The  Pharos  to  the  wandering  faith. 

It  pointed  every  prayer  to  Heaven  ! 

Well  may  ye,  felons  of  the  time. 

Still  loathing  all  that’s  pure  and  free. 
Add  this  to  many  a thousand  crime 

’Gainst  peace  and  sweet  humanity  : 

Ye,  who  have  wrapped  our  towns  in  flame. 
Defiled  our  shrines,  befouled  our  homes, 
But  fitly  turn  your  murderous  aim 
Against  Jehovah’s  ancient  domes. 

Yet,  though  the  grand  old  temple  falls. 

And  downward  sinks  the  lofty  spire, 

Our  faith  is  stronger  than  our  walls. 

And  soars  above  the  storm  and  fire. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


251 


Ye  shake  no  faith  in  souls  made  free 

To  tread  the  paths  their  fathers  trod  ; 

To  fight  and  die  for  liberty, 

Believing  in  the  avenging  God  I 

Think  not,  though  long  his  anger  stays. 

His  justice  sleeps — His  wrath  is  spent; 

The  arm  of  vengeance  but  delays. 

To  make  more  dread  the  punishment ! 

Each  impious  hand  that  lights  the  torch 
Shall  wither  ere  the  bolt  shall  fall ; 

And  the  bright  Angel  of  the  Church, 

With  seraph  shield  avert  the  ball ! 

For  still  we  deem,  as  taught  of  old. 

That  where  the  faith  the  alter  builds, 

God  sends  an  angel  from  His  fold. 

Whose  sleepless  watch  the  temple  shields. 

And  to  His  flock,  with  sweet  accord. 

Yields  their  fond  choice,  from  thrones  OiYidi  powers; 
Thus  Michael,  with  his  fiery  sword 

And  golden  shield,  still  champions  ours ! 

And  he  who  smote  the  dragon  down. 

And  chained  him  thousand  years  of  time. 

Need  never  fear  the  boa’s  frown. 

Though  loathsome  in  his  spite  and  slime. 

He,  from  the  topmost  height,  surveys 

And  guards  the  shrines  our  fathers  gave  ; 

And  we  who  sleep  beneath  his  gaze, 

May  well  believe  his  power  to  save  ! 

Yet,  if  it  be  that  for  our  sin 

Our  angel’s  term  of  watch  is  o’er, 

With  proper  prayer,  true  faith  must  win 
The  guardian  watcher  back  once  more  I 


252 


lVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Faith,  brethren  of  the  Church,  and  prayer — 
In  blood  and  sackcloth,  if  it  need  ; 

And  still  our  spire  shall  rise  in  air. 

Our  temple,  though  our  people  bleed  I 


THE  CAMEO  BRACELET.  . 

By  James  R.  Randall,  of  Maryland. 

"C" vA  sits  on  the  ottoman  there, 

^ Sits  by  a Psyche  carved  in  stone. 

With  just  such  a face,  and  just  such  an  air, 

As  Esther  upon  her  throne. 

She’s  sifting  lint  for  the  brave  who  bled, 

And  I watch  her  fingers  float  and  flow 

Over  the  linen,  as,  thread  by  thread. 

It  flakes  to  her  lap  like  snow. 

A bracelet  clinks  on  her  delicate  wrist. 

Wrought,  as  Cellini’s  were  at  Rome, 

Out  of  the  tears  of  the  amethyst. 

And  the  wan  Vesuvian  foam. 

And  full  on  the  bauble-crest  alway — 

A cameo  image  keen  and  fine — 

Glares  thy  impetuous  knife,  Corday, 

And  the  lava-locks  are  thine  ! 

I thought  of  the  war- wolves  on  our  trail. 

Their  gaunt  fangs  sluiced  with  gouts  of  blood  : 

Till  the  Past,  in  a dead,  mesmeric  veil. 

Drooped  with  a wizard  flood. 

Till  the  surly  blaze  through  the  iron  bars 

Shot  to  the  hearth  with  a pang  and  cry — 

And  a lank  howl  plunged  from  the  Champ  de  Mars 
To  the  Column  of  July — 


ATTACK  ON  CHARLESTON,  AUGUST  23  TO  SEPTEMBER  29,  1863. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


253 


Till  Corday  sprang  from  the  gem,  I swear, 

And  the  dove-eyed  damsel  I knew  had  flown — 
For  Eva  was  not  on  the  ottoman  there. 

By  the  Psyche  carved  in  stone. 

She  grew  like  a Pythoness  flushed  with  fate, 

With  the  incantation  in  her  gaze, 

A lip  of  scorn — an  arm  of  hate — 

And  a dirge  of  the  “ Marseillaise  ! 

Eva,  the  vision  was  not  wild. 

When  wreaked  on  the  tyrants  of  the  land — 
For  you  w’ere  transflgured  to  Nemesis,  child, 

With  the  dagger  in  your  hand  I 


ZOLLICOFFER. 

By  H.  L.  Flash,  of  Alabama. 

p'iRST  in  the  fight,  and  first  in  the  arms 
Of  the  white-winged  angels  of  glory. 
With  the  heart  of  the  South  at  the  feet  of  God, 
And  his  wounds  to  tell  the  story : 

And  the  blood  that  flowed  from  his  hero  heart. 
On  the  spot  where  he  nobly  perished, 

Was  drunk  by  the  earth  as  a sacrament 
In  the  holy  cause  he  cherished. 

In  Heaven  a home  with  the  brave  and  blessed. 
And,  for  his  soul’s  sustaining. 

The  apocalyptic  eyes  of  Christ — 

And  nothing  on  earth  remaining. 

But  a handful  of  dust  in  the  land  of  his  choice, 
A name  in  song  and  story. 

And  Fame  to  shout  with  her  brazen  voice, 

“ Died  on  the  Field  of  Glory  I ” 


254 


IFAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


BEAUREGARD. 

By  Miss  Warfield,  of  Mississippi. 

T ET  the  trumpet  shout  once  more, 

Beauregard  I 

Let  the  battle-thunders  roar, 

Beauregard  I 

And  again  by  yonder  sea. 

Let  the  swords  of  all  the  free 
Leap  forth  to  fight  with  thee, 

Beauregard ! 


Old  Sumter  loves  thy  name, 

Beauregard  ! 

Grim  Moultrie  guards  thy  fame, 

Beauregard  ! 

Oh  ! first  in  Freedom’s  fight ! 

Oh  ! steadfast  in  the  right  I 

Oh  ! brave  and  Christian  Knight  ! 

Beauregard  I 

St.  Michael,  with  his  host, 

Beauregard  ! 

Encamps  by  yonder  coast, 

Beauregard  ! 

And  the  Demon’s  might  shall  quail 
And  the  Dragon’s  terrors  fail, 

Were  he  trebly  clad  in  mail, 

Beauregard  I 

Not  a leaf  shall  fall  away, 

Beauregard  I 

From  the  laurel  won  to-day, 

Beauregard  I 

While  the  ocean  breezes  blow. 

While  the  billows  lapse  and  fiow 
O’er  the  Northman’s  bones  below, 

Beauregard  ! 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


255 


Let  the  trumpet  shout  once  more, 

Beauregard  I 

Let  the  battle-thunders  roar, 

Beauregard  I 

From  the  centre  to  the  shore, 

From  the  sea  to  the  land’s  core 
Thrills  the  echo,  evermore, 


Beauregard  I 


THE  FIEND  UNBOUND. 


o MORE,  with  glad  and  happy  cheer, 


And  smiling  face,  doth  Christmas  come. 

But  usher’d  in  with  sword  and  spear. 

And  beat  of  the  barbarian  drum  I 
No  more,  with  ivy-circled  brow. 

And  mossy  beard  all  snowy  white, 

He  comes  to  glad  the  children  now, 

With  sweet  and  innocent  delight. 

The  merry  dance,  the  lavish  feast, 

The  cheery  welcome,  all  are  o^er; 

The  music  of  the  viol  ceased, 

The  gleesome  ring  around  the  floor. 

No  glad  communion  greets  the  hour. 

That  welcomes  in  a Saviour’s  birth, 

And  Christmas,  to  a hostile  power. 

Yields  all  the  sway  that  made  its  mirth. 

The  Church,  like  some  deserted  bride, 

In  trembling,  at  the  Altar  w^aits. 

While  raging  fierce  on  every  side. 

The  foe  is  thundering  at  her  gates. 

No  ivy  green,  nor  glittering  leaves. 

Nor  crimson  berries  deck  her  walls ; 

But  blood,  red  dripping  from  her  eaves. 

Along  the  sacred  pavement  falls. 


256 


IV A SOJVCS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Her  silver  bells  no  longer  chime, 

In  summons  to  her  sacred  home  ; 

Nor  holy  song  at  matin  prime, 

Proclaims  the  God  within  the  dome. 

Nor  do  the  fireside’s  happy  bands 

Assemble  fond,  with  greetings  dear, 

While  Patriarch  Christmas  spreads  his  hands 
To  glad  with  gifts  and  crown  with  cheer. 

In  place  of  that  beloved  form, 

Benignant,  bland  and  blessing  all, 

Comes  one  begirt  with  fire  and  storm. 

The  raging  shell,  the  hissing  ball  I 
Type  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  no  more. 

Evoked  by  those  who  bear  His  name. 

The  Fiend,  in  place  of  Saint  of  yore. 

Now  hurls  around  Satanic  flame. 

In  hate, — evoked  by  kindred  lands. 

But  late  beslavering  with  caress, 

Lo,  Moloch,  dripping  crimson,  stands. 

And  curses  where  he  cannot  bless. 

He  wings  the  bolt  and  hurls  the  spear, 

A demon  loosed,  that  rends  in  rage. 

Sends  havoc  through  the  homes  most  dear, 

And  butchers  youth  and  tramples  age  I 

With  face  of  Fox — with  glee  that  grins. 

And  apish  arms,  with  fingers  claw’d. 

To  snatch  at  all  his  brother  wins. 

And  straight  secrete,  with  stealth  and  fraud ; — 
Lo  I Mammon,  kindred  Demon,  comes, 

And  lurks,  as  dreading  ill,  in  rear ; 

He  blows  the  trumpet,  beats  the  drums. 

Inflames  the  torch,  and  sharps  the  spear  I 


iVAJe  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


257 


And  furious,  following  in  their  train, 

What  hosts  of  lesser  Demons  rise ; 

Lust,  Malice,  Hunger,  Greed  and  Gain, 

Each  raging  for  its  special  prize, 

Too  base  for  freedom,  mean  for  toil. 

And  reckless  all  of  just  and  right, 

They  rage  in  peaceful  homes  for  spoil. 

And  where  they  cannot  butcher,  blight. 

A Serpent  lie  from  every  mouth. 

Coils  outward  ever, — sworn  to  bless ; 

Yet,  through  the  gardens  of  the  South, 

While  spreading  evils  numberless, 

By  locust  swarms  the  fields  are  swept. 

By  frenzied  hands  the  dwelling  flames. 
And  virgin  beds,  where  Beauty  slept. 

Polluted  blush,  from  worst  of  shames. 

The  Dragon,  chain’d  for  thousand-  years. 

Hath  burst  his  bonds  and  rages  free  ; — 

Yet,  patience,  brethren,  stay  your  fears  ; — 

Loosed  for  a little  season,”  he 
Will  soon,  beneath  th’  Ithuriel  sword. 

Of  heavenly  judgment,  crush’d  and  driven. 
Yield  to  the  vengeance  of  the  Lord, 

And  crouch  beneath  the  wrath  of  Heaven  I 

“ A little  season,”  and  the  Peace, 

That  now  is  foremost  in  your  prayers. 
Shall  crown  your  harvest  with  increase. 

And  bless  with  smiles  the  home  of  tears; 
Your  wounds  be  healed  ; your  noble  sons. 
Unhurt,  unmutilated — free — 

Shall  limber  up  their  conquering  guns. 

In  triumph  grand  of  Liberty  ! 


17 


258 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


A few  more  hours  of  mortal  strife, — 

Of  faith  and  patience,  working  still, 

In  struggle  for  the  immortal  life, 

With  all  their  soul,  and  strength,  and  will ; 
And,  in  the  favor  of  the  Lord, 

And  powerful  grown  by  heavenly  aid, 
Your  roof  trees  all  shall  be  restored. 

And  ye  shall  triumph  in  their  shade. 


DEAR  MOTHER  I’VE  COME  HOME  TO  DIE.” 

By  E.  Bowers. 

The  follo\^^.ng  beautiful  lines  are  based  upon  facts,  and  will  call  forth 
the  sympathy  of  every  mother’s  heart.  Many  a boy  wounded,  or  sick, 
and  changed  in  health,  came  home  to  die,  and  many,  alas,  were  not  per- 
mitted to  look  into  the  faces  of  their  loved  ones  again.  I attended  the 
funeral  of  a young  fellow,  whose  last  words  w^ere  : “Give  my  love  to  mother, 
and  tell  her  I will  meet  her  in  Heaven.”  As  the  years  wear  on  the  reunions 
are  occurring  in  a better  land,  and  many  a boy  has  been  restored  to  the 
circle  which  was  broken  by  the  rude  red  hand  of  war. 

J^EAR  MOTHER,  I remember  well 

The  parting  kiss  you  gave  me. 

When  merry  rang  the  village  bell — 

My  heart  was  full  of  joy  and  glee ; 

I did  not  dream  that  one  short  year 

Would  crush  the  hopes  that  soared  so  high  ! 

Oh,  mother  dear,  draw  near  to  me  ; 

Dear  mother,  I’ve  come  home  to  die. 

Chorus  : 

Call  sister,  brother,  to  my  side. 

And  take  your  soldier’s  last  good-by. 

Oh,  mother  dear,  draw  near  to  me  ! 

Dear  mother,  I’ve  come  home  to  die. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


259 


Hark  1 mother,  his  the  village  bell ; 

I can  no  longer  with  thee  stay ; 

My  country  calls,  to  arms  ! to  arms  [ 

The  foe  advances  in  fierce  array  I 
The  vision’s  past — 1 feel  that  now 
For  country  I can  only  sigh. 

Oh,  mother  dear,  draw  near  to  me  I 

Dear  mother  ! I’ve  come  home  to  die. 

Dear  mother,  sister,  brother,  all. 

One  parting  kiss — to  all  good-by  : 

Weep  not,  but  clasp  your  hand  in  mine, 
And  let  me  like  a soldier  die  1 
I’ve  met  the  foe  upon  the  field, 

Where  hosts  contending  scorned  to  fly  ; 
I fought  for  right — God  bless  you  all ! — 
Dear  mother,  I’ve  come  home  to  die. 


NO  LAND  LIKE  OURS. 

By  J.  R.  Barrick,  of  Kentucky. 

^^jpHOUGH  other  lands  may  boast  of  skies 
Far  deeper  in  their  blue. 

Where  flowers  in  Eden’s  pristine  dyes, 

Bloom  with  a richer  hue  ; 

And  other  nations  pride  in  kings, 

And  worship  lordly  powers  ; 

Yet  every  voice  of  nature  sings. 

There  is  no  land  like  ours. 

Though  other  scenes  than  such  as  grace 
Our  forests,  fields,  and  plains. 

May  lend  the  earth  a sweeter  face 
Where  peace  incessant  reigns  ; 


260 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  dearest  still  to  me  the  land 

Where  sunshine  cheers  the  hours, 

For  God  hath  shown,  with  His  own  hand, 

There  is  ho  land  like  ours  I 

Though  other  streams  may  softer  flow 
In  vales  of  classic  bloom, 

And  rivers  clear  as  crystal  glow, 

That  wear  no  tinge  of  gloom  ; 

Though  other  mountains  lofty  look. 

And  grand  seem  olden  towers, 

We  see,  as  in  an  open  book. 

There  is  no  land  like  ours  I 

Though  other  nations  boast  of  deeds 
That  live  in  old  renown. 

And  other  peoples  cling  to  creeds 
That  coldly  on  us  frown  ; 

On  pure  religion,  love,  and  law 

Are  based  our  ruling  powers — 

The  world  but  feels,  with  wondering  awe. 

There  is  no  land  like  ours  I 

Though  other  lands  may  boast  their  brave. 
Whose  deeds  are  writ  in  fame, 

Their  heroes  ne^er  such  glory  gave 
As  gilds  our  country’s  name ; 

Though  others  rush  to  daring  deeds, 

Where  the  darkening  war-cloud  lowers. 
Here,  each  alike  for  freedom  bleeds — 

There  is  no  land  like  ours  I 

Though  other  lands  Napoleon 
And  Wellington  adorn, 

America,  her  Washington, 

And  later  heroes  born  ; 

Yet  Johnston,  Jackson,  Price,  and  Lee, 
Bragg,  Buckner,  Morgan  towers. 

With  Beauregard,  and  Hood,  and  Bee — 
There  is  no  land  like  ours  ! 


MUTE  MEMENTOES  OF  THE  RAVAGES  OF  WAR 

Two  Silver  Goblets  rescued  from  their  hidingr-place  after  the  war.  The  one  at  the  left  has  engraved  upon  it  the  home  of  Washington  at  Mount 
Vernon;  the  one  at  the  right  Thomas  Jefferson’s  home  at  Monticello.  The  Candlestick  was  found  on  the  field  of  Fredericksburg. 


WAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


261 


READING  THE  LIST. 

Anonymous. 

“ Js  THERE  any  news  of  the  war  ? ” she  said. 

Only  a list  of  the  wounded  and  dead/^ 

Was  the  man’s  reply 
Without  lifting  his  eye 
To  the  face  of  the  woman  standing  by. 
’Tis  the  very  thing  I want/’  she  said ; 

Read  me  a list  of  the  w^ounded  and  dead.” 

He  read  the  list ; ’twas  a sad  array 

Of  the  wounded  and  killed  in  the  fatal  fray. 

In  the  very  midst  was  a pause  to  tell 
Of  a gallant  youth  who  fought  so  well 
That  his  comrades  asked : Who  is  he,  pray  ? ” 
The  only  son  of  the  Widow  Gray,” 

Was  the  proud  reply 
Of  his  captain  nigh  .... 

What  ails  the  woman  standing  near  ? 

Her  face  has  the  ashen  hue  of  fear ; 

Well,  well,  read  on  ; is  he  wounded  ? Quick  I 
O God  I but  my  heart  is  sorrow-sick  I 

Is  he  wounded  ? ” “ No ; he  fell,  they  say, 

Killed  outright  on  that  fatal  day  I ” 

But  see,  the  woman  has  swooned  away  I 
Sadly  she  opened  her  eyes  to  the  light ; 

Slowly  recalled  the  events  of  the  fight ; 

Faintly,  she  murmured  : Killed  outright  I 
It  has  cost  me  the  life  of  my  only  son ; 

But  the  battle  is  fought,  and  the  victory  won, 
The  will  of  the  Lord,  let  it  be  done  I ” 

God  pity  the  cheerless  Widow  Gray, 

And  send  from  the  halls  of  eternal  day 
The  light  of  His  peace  to  illumine  her  way. 


262 


WAI?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


O,  TEMPOEA  I 0,  MORES  I 
By  John  Dickson  Bruns,  M.  D. 

^^REAT  Pan  is  dead  I so  cried  an  airy  tongue 
To  one  who,  drifting  down  Calabria’s  shore, 

Heard  the  last  knell,  in  starry  midnight  rung, 

Of  the  old  Oracles,  dumb  for  evermore. 

A low  wail  ran  along  the  shuddering  deep. 

And  as,  far  off,  its  flaming  accents  died, 

The  awe-struck  sailors,  startled  from  their  sleep. 

Gazed,  called  aloud  : no  answering  voice  replied  ; 

Nor  ever  will — the  angry  Gods  have  fled, 

Closed  are  the  temples,  mute  are  all  the  shrines. 

The  fires  are  quenched,  Dodona’s  growth  is  dead. 

The  Sibyl’s  leaves  are  scattered  to  the  winds. 

No  mystic  sentence  will  they  bear  again. 

Which,  sagely  spelled,  might  ward  a nation’s  doom ; 

But  we  have  left  us  still  some  god-like  men. 

And  some  great  voices  pleading  from  the  tomb. 

If  we  would  heed  them,  they  might  save  us  yet, 

Call  up  some  gleams  of  manhood  in  our  breasts, 

Truth,  valor,  justice,  teach  us  to  forget 

In  a grand  cause  our  selfish  interests. 

But  we  have  fallen  on  evil  times  indeed, 

When  public  faith  is  but  the  common  shame, 

And  private  morals  held  an  idiot’s  creed, 

And  old-world  honesty  an  empty  name. 

And  lust,  and  greed,  and  gain  are  all  our  arts  I 
The  simple  lessons  which  our  fathers  taught 

Are  scorned  and  jeered  at ; in  our  sordid  marts 

We  sell  the  faith  for  which  they  toiled  and  fought. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  the  CONFEDERACY 


263 


Each  jostling  each  in  the  mad  strife  for  gold, 

The  weaker  trampled  by  the  reckless  throng 

Friends,  honor,  country  lost,  betrayed,  or  sold. 

And  lying  blasphemies  on  every  tongue. 

Cant  for  religion,  sounding  words  for  truth. 

Fraud  leads  to  fortune,  gelt  for  guilt  atones. 

No  care  for  hoary  age  or  tender  youth, 

For  widows’  tears  or  helpless  orphans’  groans, 

The  people  rage,  and  work  their  own  wild  will. 

They  stone  the  prophets,  drag  their  highest  down, 

And  as  they  smite,  with  savage  folly  still 

Smile  at  their  work,  those  dead  eyes  wear  no  frown. 

The  sage  of  “ Drainfield”  tills  a barren  soil, 

And  reaps  no  harvest  where  he  sowed  the  seed. 

He  has  but  exile  for  long  years  of  toil ; 

Nor  voice  in  council,  though  his  children  bleed. 

And  never  more  shall  Redcliff’s  ” oaks  rejoice. 

Now  bowed  with  grief  above  their  master’s  bier  ; 

Faction  and  party  stilled  that  mighty  voice. 

Which  yet  could  teach  us  wisdom,  could  we  hear. 

And  ‘‘  Woodland’s”  harp  is  mute;  the  gray,  old  man 
Broods  by  his  lonely  hearth  and  weaves  no  song ; 

Or,  if  he  sing,  the  note  is  sad  and  v/an, 

Like  the  pale  face  of  one  who’s  suffered  long. 

So  all  earth’s  teachers  have  been  overborne 

By  the  coarse  crowd,  and  fainting  droop  or  die ; 

They  bear  the  cross,  their  bleeding  brows  the  thorn, 

And  ever  hear  the  clamor — Crucify  I ” 

Oh,  for  a man  with  godlike  heart  and  brain ! 

A god  in  stature,  with  a god’s  great  will, 

And  fitted  to  the  time,  that  not  in  vain 

Be  all  the  blood  we’ve  spilt  and  yet  must  spill. 


264 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Oh,  brothers  ! friends  I shake  off  the  Circean  spell  I 
Rouse  to  the  dangers  of  impending  fate  I 
Grasp  your  keen  swords,  and  all  may  yet  be  well — 
More  gain,  more  pelf,  and  it  will  be,  too  late  I 

-Charleston  Mercury ^ 1B64, 


OUR  MARTYRS. 

By  Paul  E.  Hayne. 

J AM  sitting  lone  and  weary 

On  the  hearth  of  my  darkened  room. 

And  the  low  wind’s  miserere 

Makes  sadder  the  midnight  gloom ; 

There’s  a terror  that’s  nameless  nigh  me — 

There’s  a phantom  spell  in  the  air, 

And  methinks  that  the  dead  glide  by  me. 

And  the  breath  of  the  grave’s  in  my  hair  I 

’Tis  a vision  of  ghastly  faces. 

All  pallid  and  worn  with  pain. 
Where  the  splendor  of  manhood’s  graces 
Give  place  to  a gory  stain  ; 

In  a wild  and  weird  procession 

They  sweep  by  my  startled  eyes. 
And  stern  with  their  fate’s  fruition. 

Seem  melting  in  blood-red  skies. 

Have  they  come  from  the  shores  supernal. 

Have  they  passed  from  the  spirit’s  goal, 
’Neath  the  veil  of  the  life  eternal. 

To  dawn  on  my  shrinking  soul  ? 

Have  they  turned  from  the  choiring  angels, 
Aghast  at  the  woe  and  dearth 
That  war,  with  his  dark  evangels. 

Have  wrought  in  the  loved  of  earth  ? 


fVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


265 


Vain  dream  I ’mid  the  far-off  mountains 
They  lie  where  the  dew-mists  weep' 

And  the  murmur  of  mournful  fountains 
Breaks  over  their  painful  sleep ; 

On  the  breast  of  the  lonely  meadows, 

Safe,  safe  from  the  despot’s  will. 

They  rest  in  the  star-lit  shadows. 

And  their  brows  are  white  and  still  I 

Alas  I for  the  martyred  heroes 

Cut  down  at  their  golden  prime, 

In  a strife  with  the  brutal  Neroes, 

Who  blacken  the  path  of  Time  ? 

For  them  is  the  voice  of  wailing, 

And  the  sweet  blush-rose  departs 
From  the  cheeks  of  the  maidens,  paling 
O’er  the  wreck  of  their  broken  hearts  I 

And  alas ! for  the  vanished  glory 
Of  a thousand  household  spells  I 
And  alas  I for  the  tearful  story 
Of  the  spirit’s  fond  farewells  I 
By  the  flood,  on  the  field,  in  the  forest. 

Our  bravest  have  yielded  breath. 

But  the  shafts  that  have  smitten  sorest. 

Were  launched  by  a viewless  death  I 

Oh,  Thou  that  hast  charms  of  healing. 
Descend  on  a widowed  land. 

And  bind  o’er  the  wounds  of  feeling 
The  balms  of  Thy  mystic  hand  I 
Till  the  hearts  that  lament  and  languish, 
Renewed  by  the  touch  divine, 

From  the  depths  of  a mortal  anguish. 

May  rise  to  the  calm  of  Time  I 


266 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


OUR  DEPARTED  COMRADES. 

By  J.  Marion  Shirer. 

J AM  sitting  alone  by  a fire 

That  glimmers  on  Sugar  Loafs-height, 

But  before  I to  rest  shall  retire 

And  put  out  the  fast-fading  light — 

While  the  lanterns  of  heaven  are  ling’ring 
In  silence  all  o’er  the  deep  sea, 

And  loved  ones  at  home  are  yet  mingling 
Their  voices  in  converse  of  me — 

While  yet  the  lone  seabird  is  flying 
So  swiftly  far  o’er  the  rough  wave, 

And  many  fond  mothers  are  sighing 

For  the  noble,  the  true,  and  the  brave  ; 

Let  me  muse  o’er  the  many  departed 

Who  slumber  on  mountain  and  vale  ; 

With  the  sadness  which  shrouds  the  lone-hearted, 

Let  me  tell  of  my  comrades  a tale. 

Far  away  in  the  green,  lonely  mountains. 
Where  the.  eagle  makes  bloody  his  beak, 
In  the  mist,  and  by  Gettysburg’s  fountains, 
Our  fallen  companions  now  sleep  I 
Near  Charleston,  where  Sumter  still  rises 
In  grandeur  above  the  still  wave, 

And  always  at  evening  discloses 

The  fact  that  her  inmates  yet  live — 

On  islands,  and  fronting  Savannah, 

Where  dark  oaks  o’ershadow  the  ground, 
Round  Macon  and  smoking  Atlanta, 

How  many  dead  heroes  are  found  I 
And  out  on  the  dark  swelling  ocean, 

Where  vessels  go,  riding  the  waves. 

How  many,  for  love  and  devotion. 

Now  slumber  in  warriors’  graves  I 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


267 


No  memorials  have  yet  been  erected 
To  mark  where  these  warriors  lie, 

All  alone,  save  by  angels  protected. 

They  sleep  ’neath  the  sea  and  the  sky  I 
But  think  not  that  they  are  forgotten. 

By  those  who  the  carnage  survive  : 

When  their  headboards  will  all  have  grown  rotten. 
And  the  night-winds  have  levelled  their  graves. 
Then  hundreds  of  sisters  and  mothers. 

Whose  freedom  they  perished  to  save. 

And  fathers,  and  empty-sleeved  brothers. 

Who  surmounted  the  battle’s  red  wave  ; 

Will  crowd  from  their  homes  in  the  Southward, 

In  search  of  the  loved  and  the  blest. 

And,  rejoicing,  wdll  soon  return  homeward 
And  lay  our  dear  martyrs  to  rest. 


THE  BROKEN  MUG. 

By  John  Esten  Cooke. 

Many  are  the  relics  of  those  days  that  are  gone,  and  everyone  with  a 
history.  Elsewhere  in  this  book  may  be  found  a picture  of  two  silver  gob- 
lets, which  was  given  to  us  by  Mrs.  James  T.  Halsey,  the  daughter  of  Gen- 
eral D.  H.  Maury,  of  Virginia.  As  will  be  seen  in  her  account  of  them  they 
are  solid  silver  communion  goblets,  which  were  found  in  a desolate  church, 
the  goblets  all  mashed  out  of  recogmtion  under  the  ruins  of  the  house 
which  General  Sherman’s  men  had  destroyed.  But  the  day  will  come 
when  those  who  drank  the  communion  wine  from  that  cup,  and  for  whom 
was  poured  out  the  bitter  cup  of  sorrow',  wdll  sit  down  with  joy  at  the  mar- 
riage supper  of  the  Lamb,  at  perfect  peace  with  all  the  w'orld,  and  they 
shall  greet,  as  their  friends,  those  who  once  were  enemies,  and  the  days  of 
difference,  and  of  antagonism,  and  of  war,  will  be  remembered  no  more  ! 

mug  is  broken,  my  heart  is  sad  ! 

What  woes  can  fate  still  hold  in  store 
The  friend  I cherished  a thousand  days 
Is  smashed  to  pieces  on  the  floor  I 
Is  shattered  and  to  Limbo  gone. 

I’ll  see  my  Mug  no  more  I 


268 


ivajR  songs  of  the  confederacy 


Relic  it  was  of  joyous  hours 

Whose  golden  memories  still  allure — 

When  coffee  made  of  rye  we  drank, 

And  gray  was  all  the  dress  we  wore  I 
When  we  were  paid  some  cents  a month, 

But  never  asked  for  more  I 

In  marches  long,  by  day  and  night. 

In  raids,  hot  charges,  shocks  of  war, 
Strapped  on  the  saddle  at  my  back 

This  faithful  comrade  still  I bore — 

This  old  companion,  true  and  tried. 

I’ll  never  carry  more  I 

From  the  Rapidan  to  Gettysburg — 

“ Hard  bread  ” behind,  sour  krout  ” before — 
This  friend  went  with  the  cavalry 

And  heard  the  jarring  cannon  roar 
In  front  of  Cemetery  Hill — 

Good  heavens  ! how  they  did  roar  I 

Then  back  again,  the  foe  behind, 

Back  to  the  Old  Virginia  shore  ” — 
Some  dead  and  wounded  left — some  holes 
In  flags,  the  sullen  graybacks  bore  ; 

This  mug  had  made  the  great  campaign. 
And  we’d  have  gone  once  more  I 

Alas ! we  never  went  again  ! 

The  red  cross  banner,  slow  but  sure. 

Fell  back  ” — we  bade  to  sour  krout 
(Like  the  lover  of  Lenore) 

A long,  sad,  lingering  farewell — 

To  taste  its  joys  no  more. 


-i 


v'i; 


'■  / '■  ^ / 

‘f”.-  ,' 


- v\  ^ 

■ . -''v'--’  ;■::  ■;  ^1' 

-v''^ 


\ 


. iSijirX  ;•'<'.  i <- 


■'  ,v.  _ • 


A MEMORIAL  OF  MARYLAND  VALOR 

A monument  erected  in  IJaltimore,  and  unveiled  May  2,  1903,  to  Maryland  soldiers  and 
sailors  who  fought  for  the  Confederacy.  On  its  face  it  bears  the  following  inscrip- 
tion: “Gloria  Victis.  To  the  Soldiers  and  .Sailors  of  Maryland  in  the  Service  of  the 
Confederate  States  of  America.  1861-1865.” 


IV A SONGS  OF  7' HE  CONFEDERACY 


269 


But  still  we  fought,  and  ate  hard  bread, 

Or  starved — good  friend,  our  woes  deplore 

And  still  this  faithful  friend  remained — 

Riding  behind  me  as  before — 

The  friend  on  march,  in  bivouac. 

When  others  were  no  more. 

How  oft  we  drove  the  horsemen  blue 
In  Summer  bright,  or  Winter  frore  I 
How  oft  before  the  Southern  charge 

Through  field  and  wood  the  blue-birds  tore  I 
I’m  “ harmonized,”  but  long  to  hear 
The  bugles  ring  once  more. 

Oh  yes  I we’re  all  “ fraternal  ” now. 

Purged  of  our  sins,  we’re  clean  and  pure, 

Congress  will  “ reconstruct  ” us  soon — 

But  no  gray  people  on  that  fioor  ! 

, I’m  harmonized — so-called  ” — but  long 
To  see  those  times  once  more  I 

Gay  days  I the  sun  was  brighter  then. 

And  we  were  happy,  though  so  poor  ! 

That  past  comes  back  as  I behold 

My  shattered  friend  upon  the  floor. 

My  splintered,  useless,  ruined  mug. 

From  which  I’ll  drink  no  more. 

How  many  lips  I’ll  love  for  aye. 

While  heart  and  memory  endure. 

Have  touched  this  broken  cup  and  laughed — 

How  they  did  laugh  1 — in  days  of  yore  \ 

Those  days  we’d  call  a beauteous  dream,” 

If  they  had  been  no  more  ! 


270 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Dear  comrades,  dead  this  many  a day, 

I saw  you  weltering  in  your  gore, 

After  those  days  amid  the  pines 
On  the  Rappahannock  shore  ! 

When  the  joy  of  life  was  much  to  me 
But  your  warm  hearts  were  more  I 

Yours  was  the  grand  heroic  nerve 

That  laughs  amid  the  storm  of  war — 

Souls  that  loved  much  ” your  native  land, 

Who  fought  and  died  therefor  ! 

You  gave  your  youth,  your  brains,  your  arms. 
Your  blood — you  had  no  more  I 

You  lived  and  died  true  to  your  flag ! 

And  now  your  wounds  are  healed — but  sore 
Are  many  hearts  that  think  of  you 
Where  you  have  “ gone  before.” 

Peace,  comrade  ! God  bound  up  those  forms,  ♦ 
They  are  ‘‘  whole  ” forevermore  I 

Those  lips  this  broken  vessel  touched, 

His,  too  ! — the  man’s  we  all  adore — 

That  cavalier  of  cavaliers. 

Whose  voice  will  ring  no  more — 

Whose  plume  will  float  amid  the  storm 
Of  battle  never  more  ! 

Not  on  this  idle  page  I write 

That  name  of  names,  shrined  in  the  core 
Of  every  heart ! — peace  ! foolish  pen. 

Hush  I words  so  cold  and  poor  ! 

His  sword  is  rust ; the  blue  eyes  dust. 

His  bugle  sounds  no  more  I 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


271 


Never  was  cavalier  like  ours  ! 

Not  Rupert  in  the  years  before  ! 

And  when  his  stern,  hard  work  was  done, 

His  griefs,  joys,  battles  o’er — 

His  mighty  spirit  rode  the  storm. 

And  led  his  men  once  morel 

He  lies  beneath  his  native  sod, 

Where  violets  spring,  or  frost  is  hoar ; 

He  recks  not — charging  squadrons  watch 
His  raven  plume  no  more ! 

That  smile  we’ll  see,  that  voice  we’ll  hear, 
That  hand  we’ll  touch  no  more  1 

My  foolish  mirth  is  quenched  in  tears : 

Poor  fragments  strewed  upon  the  floor, 

Ye  are  the  types  of  nobler  things 
That  find  their  use  no  more — 

Things  glorious  once,  now  trodden  down — 
That  makes  us  smile  no  more  I 

Of  courage,  pride,  high  hopes,  stout  hearts — 

Hard,  stubborn  nerve,  devotion  pure. 

Beating  his  wings  against  the  bars. 

The  prisoned  eagle  tried  to  soar ; 

Outmatched,  o’erwhelmed,  we  struggled  still — 
Bread  failed — we  fought  no  more  I 

Lies  in  the  dust  the  shattered  staff 
That  bore  aloft  on  sea  and  shore. 

That  blazing  flag,  amid  the  storm  ! 

And  none  are  now  so  poor. 

So  poor  to  do  it  reverence 

Now  when  it  flames  no  more  I 


272 


IVAJe  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  it  is  glorious  in  the  dust, 

Sacred  till  Time  shall  be  no  more ; 

Spare  it,  fierce  editors  ! your  scorn — 

The  dread  Rebellion’s  ” o’er ! 

Furl  the  great  flag — hide  cross  and  star, 
Thrust  into  darkness  star  and  bar, 

But  look  ! across  the  ages  far 
It  flames  for  evermore  I 


MELT  THE  BELLS. 

By  F.  V.  Rockett. 

The  following  lines  were  written  on  General  Beauregard’s  appeal  to  the 
people  to  contribute  their  bells,  that  they  may  be  melted  into  cannon  : 

J^^ELT  the  bells,  melt  the  bells. 

Still  the  tinkling  on  the  plains, 

And  transmute  the  evening  chimes 
Into  war’s  resounding  rhymes. 

That  the  invaders  may  be  slain 
By  the  bells. 

Melt  the  bells,  melt  the  bells. 

That  for  years  have  called  to  prayer, 

And,  instead,  the  cannon’s  roar 
Shall  resound  the  valleys  o’er, 

That  the  foe  may  catch  despair 
From  the  bells. 

Melt  the  bells,  melt  the  bells. 

Though  it  cost  a tear  to  part 
With  the  music  they  have  made. 

Where  the  friends  we  love  are  laid. 

With  pale  cheek  and  silent  heart, 

’Neath  the  bells. 


JVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


273 


Melt  the  bells,  melt  the  bells, 

Into  cannon,  vast  and  grim, 

And  the  foe  shall  feel  the  ire 
From  each  heaving  lungs  of  fire, 

And  we’ll  put  our  trust  in  Him 
And  the  bells. 

Melt  the  bells,  melt  the  bells, 

And  when  foes  no  more  attack, 
And  the  lightning  cloud  of  war 
Shall  roll  thunderless  and  far. 

We  will  melt  the  cannon  back 
Into  bells. 

Melt  the  bells,  melt  the  bells. 

And  they’ll  peal  a sweeter  chime. 

And  remind  of  all  the  brave 
Who  have  sunk  to  glory’s  grave. 

And  will  sleep  thro’  coming  time 

^Neath  the  bells. — Memphis  Appeal. 


SEA-WEEDS. 

By  Annie  Chambers  Ketchum. 

JpRiEND  of  the  thoughtful  mind  and  gentle  heart  I 
Beneath  the  citron-tree — 

Deep  calling  to  my  soul’s  profounder  deep — 

I hear  the  Mexique  Sea. 

While  through  the  night  rides  in  the  spectral  surf 
Along  the  spectral  sands, 

And  all  the  air  vibrates,  as  if  from  harps 
Touched  by  phantasmal  hands. 

Bright  in  the  moon  the  red  pomegranate  flowers 
Lean  to  the  Yucca’s  bells. 

While  with  her  chrism  of  dew,  sad  Midnight  fills 
The  milk-white  asphodels. 


18 


274 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Watching  all  night — as  I have  done  before — 

I count  the  stars  that  set, 

Each  writing  on  my  soul  some  memory  deep 
Of  Pleasure  or  Regret; 

Till,  wild  with  heart-break,  toward  the  East  I turn, 
Waiting  for  dawn  of  day ; — 

And  chanting  sea,  and  asphodel  and  star 
Are  faded,  all,  away. 

Only  within  my  trembling,  trembling  hands — 
Brought  unto  me  by  thee — 

I clasp  these  beautiful  and  fragile  things, 

Bright  sea-weeds  from  the  sea, 

Fair  bloom  the  flowers  beneath  these  Northern  skies, 
Pure  shine  the  stars  by  night. 

And  grandly  sing  the  grand  Atlantic  waves 
In  thunder-throated  might ; 

But,  as  the  sea-shell  in  her  chambers  keeps 
The  murmur  of  the  sea. 

So  the  deep-echoing  memories  of  my  home 
Will  not  depart  from  me. 

Prone  on  the  page  they  lie,  these  gentle  things  I 
As  I have  seen  them  cast 

Like  a drowned  woman’s  hair,  along  the  beach, 

When  storms  were  over-past ; 

Prone,  like  mine  own  affections,  cast  ashore 
In  Battle’s  storm  and  blight ; 

Would  they  had  died,  like  sea- weeds  ! Pray  forgive  me. 
But  I must  weep  to-night. 

Tell  me  again,  of  Summer  fields  made  fair 
By  Spring’s  precursing  plough  ; 

Of  joyful  reapers,  gathering  tear’-sown  harvests — 

Talk  to  me, — will  you — now  I 


IVAJi  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


275 


THE  MOUNTAIN  PARTISAN. 

(Anonymous.) 

rifle,  pouch,  and  knife  ! 

My  steed  I And  then  we  part  I 
One  loving  kiss,  dear  wife, 

One  press  of  heart  to  heart  I 
Cling  to  me  yet  awhile. 

But  stay  the  sob,  the  tear  I 
Smile — only  try  to  smile — 

And  I go  without  a fear. 

Our  little  cradled  boy. 

He  sleeps — and  in  his  sleep, 
Smiles,  with  an  angel  joy. 

Which  tells  thee  not  to  weep 
Idl  kneel  beside,  and  kiss — 

He  will  not  wake  the  while, 
Thus  dreaming  of  the  bliss, 

That  bids  thee,  too,  to  smile. 

Think  not,  dear  wife,  I go. 

With  a light  thought  at  my  heart : 

’Tis  a pang  akin  to  woe. 

That  fills  me  as  we  part ; 

But  when  the  wolf  was  heard 
To  howl  around  our  lot. 

Thou  know’st,  dear  mother-bird, 

I slew  him  on  the  spot  I 

Aye,  panther,  wolf,  and  bear. 

Hath  perish’d  ’neath  my  knife ; 
W^hy  tremble,  then,  with  fear. 

When  now  I go,  my  wife  ? 

Shall  I not  keep  the  peace. 

That  made  our  cottage  dear ; 
And  ’till  these  wolf-curs  cease 
Shall  I be  housing  here? 


276 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


One  loving  kiss,  dear  wife, 

One  press  of  heart  to  heart ; 

Then  for  the  deadliest  strife, 

For  freedom  I depart  I 
I were  of  little  worth. 

Were  these  Yankee  wolves  left  free 
To  ravage  hound  the  hearth, 

And  bring  one  grief  to  thee  I 

God’s  blessing  on  thee,  wife, 

God’s  blessing  on  the  young : 
Pray  for  me  through  the  strife, 

And  teach  our  infant’s  tongue. 
Whatever  haps  in  fight, 

I shall  be  true  to  thee — 

To  the  home  of  our  delight — 

To  my  people  of  the  free. 


JOHN  PELHAM. 

By  James  R.  Randall. 

JUST  as  the  spring  came  laughing  through  the  strife 
With  all  its  gorgeous  cheer; 

In  the  bright  April  of  historic  life 
Fell  the  great  cannoneer. 

The  wondrous  lulling  of  a hero’s  breath 
His  bleeding  country  weeps — 
Hushed  in  the  alabaster  arms  of  death, 
Our  young  Marcellus  sleeps. 

Nobler  and  grander  than  the  Child  of  Rome, 
Curbing  bis  chariot  steeds  ; 

The  knightly  scion  of  a Southern  home 
Dazzled  the  land  with  deeds. 


GENERAL  A.  P.  HILL  GENERAL  KIRBY  SMITH 


IVA/^  SOJVGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


277 


Gentlest  and  bravest  in  the  battle  brunt, 

The  champion  of  the  truth, 

He  bore  his  banner  to  the  very  front 
Of  our  immortal  youth. 

A clang  of  sabres  ^mid  Virginian  snow. 

The  fiery  pang  of  shells — 

And  there’s  a wail  of  immemorial  woe 
In  Alabama  dells. 

The  pennon  drops  that  led  the  sacred  band 
Along  the  crimson  field  I 
The  meteor  blade  sinks  from  the  nerveless  hand 
Over  the  spotless  shield. 

We  gazed  and  gazed  upon  that  beauteous  face, 
While  ’round  the  lips  and  eyes. 

Couched  in  the  marble  slumber,  flashed  the  grace 
Of  a divine  surprise. 

Oh,  mother  of  a blessed  soul  on  high  I 
Thy  tears  may  soon  be  shed — 

Think  of  thy  boy  with  princes  of  the  sky, 

Among  the  Southern  dead. 

How  must  he  smile  on  this  dull  world  beneath. 
Fevered  with  swift  renown — 

He — with  the  martyr’s  amaranthine  wreath 
Twining  the  victor’s  crown  I 


278 


IV A J?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


BATTERIES  OF  BEAUREGARD" 

By  J.  R.  Barrick,  of  Kentucky. 

C C Y" E batteries  of  Beauregard  ! " 

Pour  your  hail  from  Moultrie’s  wall ; 

Bid  the  shock  of  your  deep  thunder 
On  their  fleet  in  terror  fall ; 

Rain  your  storm  of  leaden  fury 
On  the  black  invading  host — 

Teach  them  that  their  step  shall  never 
Press  on  Carolina’s  coast. 

Ye  batteries  of  Beauregard!  " 

Sound  the  story  of  our  wrong  ; 

Let  your  tocsin  wake  the  spirit 
Of  a people  brave  and  strong  ; 

Her  proud  names  of  old  remember — 
Marion,  Sumter,  Pinckney,  Greene; 
Swell  the  roll  whose  deeds  of  glory 
Side  by  side  with  theirs  are  seen, 

“ Ye  batteries  of  Beauregard  I " 

From  Savannah  on  them  frown  ; 

By  the  majesty  of  Heaven 

Strike  their  “ grand  armada  " down  ; 

By  the  blood  of  many  a freeman. 

By  each  dear-bought  battle-field, 

By  the  hopes  we  fondly  cherish, 

Never  ye  the  victory  yield. 

Ye  batteries  of  Beauregard  I " 

All  along  our  Southern  coast, 

Let,  in  after-time,  your  triumphs. 

Be  a nation’s  pride  and  boast ; 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


279 


Send  each  missile  with  a greeting 
To  the  vile,  ungodly  crew  ; 

Make  them  feel  they  ne’er  can  conquer 
People  to  themselves  so  true. 

Ye  batteries  of  Beauregard ! ” 

By  the  glories  of  the  past, 

By  the  memory  of  Old  Sumter, 

Whose  renown  will  ever  last, 
Speed  upon  their  vaunted  legions 
Volleys  thick  of  shot  and  shell, 

Bid  them  welcome,  in  your  glory, 

To  their  own  appointed  hell. 


VIRGINIA. 

By  Catherine  M.  Warfield. 


LORious  Virginia  ! Freedom  sprang 


Light  to  her  feet  at  thy  trumpet’s  clang 
At  the  first  sound  of  that  clarion  blast. 

Foes  like  the  chaff  from  the  whirlwind  passed — 
Passed  to  their  doom ; from  that  hour  no  more 
Triumphs  their  cause  by  sea  or  shore. 

Glorious  Virginia!  noble  the  blood 

That  hath  bathed  thy  tields  in  a crimson  flood ; 

On  many  a wide-spread  and  sunny  plain, 

Like  leaves  of  autumn  they  dead  have  lain ; 

The  Southron  heart  is  their  funeral  urn  f 
The  Southron  slogan  their  requiem  stern  I 

Glorious  Virginia  1 to  thee,  to  thee 
We  lean,  as  the  shoots  to  the  parent  tree  ; 
Bending  in  awe  at  thy  glance  of  might ; — 

First  in  the  council,  first  in  the  fight  I 
While  our  flag  is  fanned  by  the  breath  of  fame. 
Glorious  Virginia  1 we’ll  bless  thy  name. 


280 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


‘^WHEN  PEACE  RETURNS/’ 

By  Olivia  Tully  Thomas 

‘‘war  has  smoothed  his  wrinkled  front,” 
And  meek-eyed  peace  returning, 

Has  brightened  hearts  that  long  were  wont 
To  sigh  in  grief  and  mourning — 

How  blissful  then  will  be  the  day 
When,  from  the  wars  returning, 

The  weary  soldier  wends  his  way 
To  dear  ones  that  are  yearning. 

To  clasp  in  true  love’s  fond  embrace. 
To  gaze  with  looks  so  tender 
Upon  the  war-worn  form  and  face 
Of  Liberty’s  defender ; 

To  count  with  pride  each  cruel  scar. 
That  mars  the  manly  beauty. 

Of  him  who  proved  so  brave  in  war, 
So  beautiful  in  duty. 

When  peace  returns,  throughout  our  land. 

Glad  shouts  of  welcome  render 
The  gallant  few  of  Freedom’s  band 
Whose  cry  was  “ no  surrender  ” 

Who  battled  bravely  to  be  free 
From  tyranny’s  oppressions. 

And  won,  for  Southern  chivalry. 

The  homage  of  all  nations  I 

And  when  again,  in  Southern  bowers 
The  ray  of  peace  is  shining, 

Her  maidens  gather  fairest  flowers. 
And  honor’s  wreaths  are  twining. 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


281 


To  bind  the  brows  victorious 
On  many  a field  so  gory, 

Whose  names  renowned  and  glorious, 

Shall  live  in  song  and  story, 

Then  will  affection’s  tear  be  shed, 

, And  pity,  joy  restraining, 

For  those,  the  lost,  lamented  dead. 

Are  all  beyond  our  plaining  ; 

They  fell  in  manhood’s  prime  and  might ; 

And  we  should  not  weep  the  story 
That  tells  of  Fame,  a sacred  light. 

Above  each  grave  of  glory  1 


GOD  SAVE  THE  SOUTH. 

By  Geokge  H.  Miles,  of  Baltimore. 


on  save  the  South  I 


God  save  the  South  I 
Her  altars  and  firesides — 
God  save  the  South  I 
Now  that  the  war  is  nigh — 
Now  that  we  arm  to  die — 
Chanting  our  battle-cry. 
Freedom  or  death  ! 


God  be  our  shield  I 
At  home  or  a-field. 

Stretch  Thine  arm  over  us. 
Strengthen  and  save  I 
What  though  they’re  five  to  one, 
Forward  each  sire  and  son. 

Strike  till  the  war  is  done. 

Strike  to  the  grave. 


282 


lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


God  make  the  right 
Stronger  than  might ! 

Millions  would  trample  us 
Down  in  their  pride. 

Lay,  Thou,  their  legions  low  ; 

Roll  back  the  ruthless  foe; 

Let  the  proud  spoiler  know 
God’s  on  our  side  I 

Hark ! honor’s  call. 

Summoning  all — 

Summoning  all  of  us 
Up  to  the  strife. 

Sons  of  the  South,  awake  I 
Strike  till  the  brand  shall  break ! 
Strike  for  dear  honor’s  sake. 
Freedom  and  Life  ! 


Rebels  before 

Were  our  fathers  of  yore  ; 

Rebel,  the  glorious  name 
Washington  bore. 

Why,  then,  be  ours  the  same 
Title  be  snatched  from  shame ; 

Making  it  first  in  fame, 

Odious  no  more. 

War  to  the  hilt  I 
Their’s  be  the  guilt. 

Who  fetter  the  freeman 

To  ransom  the  slave. 
Up,  then,  and  undismayed. 
Sheathe  not  the  battle-blade. 
Till  the  last  foe  is  laid 
Tiow  in  the  grave. 


IVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


283 


God  save  the  South  I 
God  save  the  South  I 
Dry  the  dim  eyes  that  now 
Follow  our  path. 

Still  let  the  light  feet  rove 
Safe  through  the  orange  grove ; 

Still  keep  the  land  we  love 
Safe  from  all  wrath. 

God  save  the  South  I 
God  save  the  South  ! 

Her  altars  and  firesides — 
God  save  the  South  ! 
For  the  rude  war  is  nigh, 
And  we  must  win  or  die  ; 
Chanting  our  battle-cry 
Freedom  or  Death  [ 


THE  SOUTHERN  CROSS. 

By  E.  K.  Blunt. 

the  name  of  God  ! Amen  ! 

Stand  for  our  Southern  rights ; 

On  our  side,  Southern  men. 

The  God  of  battles  fights ; 

Fling  the  invaders  far — 

Hurl  back  their  work  of  woe — 

Thy  voice  is  the  voice  of  a brother. 

But  the  hands  are  the  hands  of  a foe. 
They  come  with  a trampling  army. 
Invading  our  native  sod — 

Stand,  Southrons  ! fight  and  conquer 
In  the  name  of  the  mighty  God 


284 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


They  are  singing  our  song  of  triumph, 

Which  proclaimed  us  proud  and  free — 

While  breaking  away  the  heartstrings 
Of  our  nation’s  harmony. 

Sadly  it  floateth  from  us, 

Sighing  o’er  land  and  wave; 

Till,  mute  on  the  lips  of  the  poet. 

It  sleeps  in  its  Southern  grave. 

Spirit  and  song  departed  ! 

Minstrel  and  minstrelsy ! 

We  mourn  ye,  heavy  hearted, — 

But  we  will — we  will  be  free  ! 

They  are  waving  our  flag  above  us. 

With  the  despot’s  tyrant  will  ; 

AVith  our  blood  they  have  stained  its  colors. 
And  they  call  it  holy  still. 

With  tearful  eyes,  but  steady  hand, 

We’ll  tear  its  stripes  apart. 

And  fling  them,  like  broken  fetters. 

That  may  not  bind  the  heart. 

But  we’ll  save  our  stars  of  glory, 

In  the  might  of  the  sacred  sign. 

Of  Him  who  has  fixed  forever 

One  “ Southern  Cross  ” to  shine. 

Stand,  Southrons  ! fight  and  conquer  ! 

Solemn,  and  strong,  and  sure ! 

The  fight  shall  not  be  longer 
Than  God  shall  bid  endure. 

By  the  life  that  but  yesterday 

Waked  with  the  infant’s  breath! 

By  the  feet  which,  ere  morning,  may 
Tread  to  the  soldier’s  death  ! 

By  the  blood  which  cries  to  heaven — 

Crimson  upon  our  sod  ! 

Stand,  Southrons  ! fight  and  conquer. 

In  the  name  of  the  mighty  God  I 


GENERAL  “STONEWALL'’  JACKSON  GEN  ERAL  CLEM  ENT  A.  EVANS 

Successor  to  General  “Stonewall”  Jackson  in  Command 
of  Division  Army  of  Western  Virginia,  C.  S.  A.,  1864-1865. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


285 


THE  NEW  STAR. 

By  B.  M.  Anderson. 

^^^NOTHER  star  arisen  ; another  flag  unfurled  ; 

Another  name  inscribed  among  the  nations  of  the  world ; 
Another  mighty  struggle  Against  a tyrant’s  fell  decree, 

And  again  a burdened  people  have  uprisen,  and  are  free. 

The  spirit  of  the  fathers  in  the  children  liveth  yet ; 

Liveth  still  the  olden  blood  which  dimmed  the  foreign  bayonet ; 
And  the  fathers  fought  for  freedom,  and  the  sons  for  freedom 
fight ; 

Their  God  was  with  the  fathers — and  is  still  the  God  of  right  I 

Behold  ! the  skies  are  darkened ! A gloomy  cloud  hath  lowered ! 
Shall  it  break  before  the  sun  of  peace,  or  spread  in  rage 
impowered  ? 

Shall  we  have  the  smile  of  friendship,  or  shall  it  be  the  blow? 
Shall  it  be  the  right  hand  to  the  friend,  or  the  red  hand  to  the 
foe? 

In  peacefulness  we  wish  to  live,  but  not  in  slavish  fear ; 

In  peacefulness  we  dare  not  die,  dishonored  on  our  bier. 

To  our  allies  of  the  northern  land  we  offer  heart  and  hand. 
But  if  they  scorn  our  friendship — then  the  banner  and  the 
brand  ! 

Honor  to  the  new-born  nation  1 and  honor  to  the  brave  I 
A country  freed  from  thraldom,  or  a soldier’s  honored  grave. 
Every  step  shall  be  contested  ; every  rivulet  run  red. 

And  the  invader,  should  he  conquer,  find  the  conquered  in  the 
dead. 

But  victory  shall  follow  where  the  sons  of  freedom  go. 

And  the  signal  for  the  onset  be  the  death-knell  of  the  foe  ; 
And  hallowed  shall  the  spot  be  where  he  was  so  bravely  met, 
And  the  star  which  yonder  rises,  rises  never  more  to  set. 


286 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


GIVE  BACK  THA^  SWORD. 

Virginia  to  Winfield  Scott. 

A VOICE  is  heard  in  Ramah  1 

High  sounds  are  on  the  gale  ! 

Notes  to  wake  buried  patriots ! 

Notes  to  strike  traitors  pale  ! 

Wild  notes  of  outraged  feeling 

Cry  aloud  and  spare  him  not  1 

^Tis  Virginia’s  strong  appealing, 

And  she  calls  to  Winfield  Scott  I 

Oh  ! chief  among  ten  thousand  I 
Thou  whom  I loved  so  well, 

Star  that  has  set,  as  never  yet 
Since  son  of  morning  fell  I 
I call  not  in  reviling. 

Nor  to  speak  thee  what  thou  art ; 
I leave  thee  to  thy  death-bed. 

And  I leave  thee  to  thy  heart ! 

But  by  every  mortal  hope. 

And  by  every  mortal  fear ; 

By  all  that  man  deems  sacred. 

And  that  woman  holds  most  dear ; 

Yea  I by  thy  mother’s  honor. 

And  by  thy  father’s  grave. 

By  hell  beneath,  and  heaven  above. 

Give  back  the  sword  1 gave  I 

Not  since  God’s  sword  was  planted 
To  guard  life’s  heavenly  tree. 

Has  ever  blade  been  granted, 

Like  that  bestowed  on  thee  I 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


287 


To  pierce  me  with  the  steel  I gave 
To  guard  mine  honor’s  shrine, 

Not  since  Iscariot  lived  and  died, 

Was  treason  like  to  thine  I 

Give  hack  the  sword  and  sever 
Our  strong  and  mighty  tie  I 
We  part,  and  part  forever, 

To  conquer  or  to  die  1 
In  sorrow,  not  in  anger, 

I speak  the  word,  We  part  I 
For  I leave  thee  to  thy  death -bed. 
And  I leave  thee  to  thy  heart  I 


SEVENTY-SIX  AND  SIXTY-ONE. 

By  John  W.  Overall,  of  Louisiana. 

"Y" ^ spirits  of  the  glorious  dead  I 
Ye  watchers  in  the  sky  I 
Who  sought  the  patriot’s  crimson  bed, 

With  holy  trust  and  high — 

Come,  lend  your  inspiration  now, 

Come,  fire  each  Southern  son, 

Who  nobly  fights  for  freemen’s  rights, 

And  shouts  for  sixty-one. 

Come,  teach  them  how,  on  hill,  on  glade. 
Quick  leaping  from  your  side. 

The  lightning  flash  of  sabres  made 
A red  and  flowing  tide — 

How  well  ye  fought,  how  bravely  fell, 
Beneath  our  burning  sun  ; 

And  let  the  lyre,  in  strains  of  fire. 

So  speak  of  sixty-one. 


288 


JV^J?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


There’s  many  a grave  in  all  the  land, 

And  many  a crucifix, 

Which  tells  how  that  heroic  band 
Stood  firm  in  seventy-six — 

Ye  heroes  of  the  deathless  past, 

Your  glorious  race  is  run. 

But  from  your  dust  springs  freemen’s  trust, 

And  blows  for  sixty-one. 

We  build  our  altars  where  you  lie. 

On  many  a verdant  sod. 

With  sabres  pointing  to  the  sky, 

And  sanctified  of  God  ; 

The  smoke  shall  rise  from  every  pile. 
Till  freedom’s  cause  is  won. 

And  every  mouth  throughout  the  South, 
Shall  shout  for  sixty-one. 


FROM  THE  RAPIDAN— 1863. 

A LOW  wind  in  the  pines  I 

And  a dull  pain  in  the  breast  I 
And  oh  I for  the  sigh  of  her  lips  and  eyes — 

One  touch  of  the  hand  I pressed  I 

The  slow,  sad  lowland  wind. 

It  sighs  through  the  livelong  day. 
While  the  splendid  mountain  breezes  blow, 
And  the  autumn  is  burning  away. 

Here  the  pines  sigh  ever  above. 

And  the  broomstraw  sighs  below  ; 

And  far  from  tlie  bare,  bleak,  wintry  fields 
Comes  the  note  of  the  drowsy  crow. 


IVAJi  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


289 


There  the  trees  are  crimson  and  gold, 

Like  the  tints  of  a magical  dawn, 

And  the  slender  form,  in  the  dreamy  days, 

By  the  slow  stream  rambles  on. 

Oh,  day  that  weighs  on  the  heart  I 
Oh,  wind  in  the  dreary  pines  I 
Does  she  think  on  me  hnid  the  golden  hours, 
* . Past  the  mountain’s  long  blue  lines  ? 

The  old  house,  lonely  and  still, 

By  the  sad  Shenandoah’s  waves, 

Must  be  touched  to-day  by  the  sunshine’s  gleam, 

As  the  spring  flowers  bloom  on  graves. 

Oh,  sunshine,  flitting  and  sad. 

Oh,  wind,  that  forever  sighs  ! 

The  hall  may  be  bright,  but  my  life  is  dark 
For  the  sunshine  of  her  eyes  I 


«IS  THERE,  THEN,  NO  HOPE  FOR  THE  NATIONS?’ 

Js  THERE,  then,  no  hope  for  the  nations  ? 

Must  the  record  of  Time  be  the  same  ? 

And  shall  History,  in  all  her  narrations. 

Still  close  each  last  chapter  in  shame  ? 

Shall  the  valor  which  grew  to  be  glorious. 

Prove  the  shame,  as  the  pride  of  a race : 

And  a people,  for  ages  victorious. 

Through  the  arts  of  the  chapman,  grow  base  ? 

Greek,  Hebrew,  Assyrian  and  Roman, 

Each  strides  o’er  the  scene  and  departs  I 
How  valiant  their  deeds  ’gainst  the  foeman. 

How  wondrous  their  virtues  and  arts  ! 


19 


290 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Kude  valor,  at  first,  when  beginning. 

The  nation  through  blood  took  its  name ; 

Then  the  wisdom,  which  hourly  winning 

New  heights  in  its  march,  rose  to  Fame  I 

How  noble  the  tale  for  long  ages. 

Blending  Beauty  with  courage  and  might  I 
What  Heroes,  what  Poets,  and  Sages, 

Made  eminent  stars  for  each  height ! 
While  their  people,  with  reverence  ample, 
Brought  tribute  of  praise  to  the  Great, 
Whose  wisdom  and  virtuous  example, 

Made  virtue  the  pride  of  the  State  I 

Ours,  too,  was  as  noble  a dawning, 

With  hopes  of  the  Future  as  high; 

Great  men,  each  a star  of  the  morning, 

Taught  us  bravely  to  live  and  to  die  I 
We  fought  the  long  fight  with  our  foeman, 

And  through  trial — well-borne — won  a name, 
Not  less  glorious  than  Grecian  or  Roman, 

And  worthy  as  lasting  a fame  I 

Shut  the  Book  I We  must  open  another  I 
O Southron ! if  taught  by  the  Past, 
Beware,  when  thou  choosest  a brother. 

With  what  ally  thy  fortunes  are  cast  I 
Beware  of  all  foreign  alliance. 

Of  their  pleadings  and  pleasings  beware, 
Better  meet  the  old  snake  with  defiance. 
Than  find  in  his  charming  a snare  i 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


291 


HYMN  TO  THE  NATIONAL  FLAG. 

By  Mrs.  M.  J.  Preston. 

JpLOAT  aloft,  thou  stainless  banner  ! 

Azure  cross  and  field  of  light ; 

Be  thy  brilliant  stars  the  symbol 

Of  the  pure  and  true  and  right. 

Shelter  freedom’s  holy  cause — 

Liberty  and  sacred  laws  ; 

Guard  the  youngest  of  the  nations — 

Keep  her  virgin  honor  bright. 

From  Virginia’s  storied  border, 

Down  to  Tampa’s  furthest  shore — 
From  the  blue  Atlantic’s  clashings 
To  the  Bio  Grande’s  roar — 

Over  many  a crimson  plain, 

Where  our  martyred  ones  lie  slain — 
Fling  abroad  thy  blessed  shelter. 

Stream  and  mount  and  valley  o’er. 

In  thy  cross  of  heavenly  azure 

Has  our  faith  its  emblem  high  ; 

In  thy  field  of  white,  the  hallow’d 

Truth  for  which  we’ll  dare  and  die ; 

In  thy  red,  the  patriot  blood — 

Ah  ! the  consecrated  fiood. 

Lift  thyself,  resistless  banner ! 

Ever  fill  our  Southern  sky  ! 

Flash  with  living,  lightning  motion 
In  the  sight  of  all  the  brave  I 
Tell  the  price  at  which  we  purchased 
Boom  and  right  for  thee  to  wave 


292 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Freely  in  our  God’s  free  air, 

Pure  and  proud  and  stainless  fair) 

Banner  of  the  youngest  nation — 

Banner  we  would  die  to  save  I 

Strike  thou  for  us  I King  of  armies  I 
Grant  us  room  in  thy  broad  world  I 
Loosen  all  the  despot’s  fetters, 

Back  be  all  his  legions  hurled  ! 
Give  us  peace  and  liberty, 

Let  the  land  w^e  love  be  free — 

Then,  oh  I bright  and  stainless  banner  I 
Never  shall  thy  folds  be  furled  I 


AT  FORT  PILLOW. 

By  James  R.  Randall. 

ou  shudder  as  you  think  upon 
The  carnage  of  the  grim  report, 

The  desolation  when  we  won 

The  inner  trenches  of  the  fort. 

But  there  are  deeds  you  may  not  know, 
That  scourge  the  pulses  into  strife ; 
Dark  memories  of  deathless  woe 

Pointing  the  bayonet  and  knife. 

The  house  is  ashes  where  I dwelt. 

Beyond  the  mighty  inland  sea; 

The  tombstones  shattered  where  I knelt. 

By  that  old  church  at  Pointe  Coupee. 


The  Yankee  fiends  that  came  with  firej 
Camped  on  the  consecrated  sod. 
And  trampled  in  the  dust  and  mire 
The  Holy  Eucharist  of  God  I 


,»s  « -mmm  mmipsm  m 
• T(«  tskum  ^ 

TH#MA$  J.  JACKSON, 

m *««?»«»  s>  VtsfiN;^ 

w T«s  vtm&iit  tm.  Sevwm*  Pt<if(.c 


PBP  - " ---4^ 

B 

STONEWALL’^  JACKSON  MONUMENT  IN  THE  CAPITOL  SQUARE, 
RICHMOND,  V RGINIA 

I'rom  pliotograph  made  for  thi;  w rk  by  Edyth  Carter  Beveridge. 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


293 


The  spot  where  darling  mother  sleeps, 

Beneath  the  glimpse  of  yon  sad  moon, 

Is  crushed,  with  splintered  marble  heaps. 

To  stall  the  horse  of  some  dragoon. 

God ! when  I ponder  that  black  day 
It  makes  my  frantic  spirit  wince; 

I marched — with  Longstreet — far  away. 
But  have  beheld  the  ravage  since. 

The  tears  are  hot  upon  my  face. 

When  thinking  what  bleak  fate  befell 

The  only  sister  of  our  race — 

A thing  too  horrible  to  tell. 

They  say  that,  ere  her  senses  fled, 

She  rescue  of  her  brothers  cried  ; 

Then  feebly  bowed  her  stricken  head. 
Too  pure  to  live  thus — so  she  died. 

Two  of  those  brothers  heard  no  plea  ; 

With  their  proud  hearts  forever  still — 

John  shrouded  by  the  Tennessee, 

And  Arthur  there  at  Malvern  Hill. 

But  I have  heard  it  everywhere. 
Vibrating  like  a passing  knell ; 

’Tis  as  perpetual  as  the  air. 

And  solemn  as  a funeral  bell. 

By  scorched  lagoon  and  murky  swamp 
My  wrath  was  never  in  the  lurch ; 

I’ve  killed  the  picket  in  his  camp. 

And  many  a pilot  on  his  perch. 


294 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


With  steady  rifle,  sharpened  brand, 

A week  ago,  upon  my  steed. 

With  Forrest  and  his  warrior  band, 

I made  the  hell-hounds  writhe  and  bleed. 

You  should  have  seen  our  leader  go 
Upon  the  battle’s  burning  marge, 

Swooping  like  falcon,  on  the  foe. 

Heading  the  gray  line’s  iron  charge  ! 

All  outcasts  from  our  ruined  marts, 

We  heard  th’  undying  serpent  hiss, 

And  in  the  desert  of  our  hearts 
The  fatal  spell  of  Nemesis. 

The  Southern  yell  rang  loud  and  high 
The  moment  that  we  thundered  in. 

Smiting  the  demons  hip  and  thigh. 
Cleaving  them  to  the  very  chin. 

My  right  arm  bared  for  fiercer  play. 

The  left  one  held  the  rein  in  slack ; 

In  all  the  fury  of  the  fray 

I sought  the  white  man,  not  the  black. 

The  dabbled  clots  of  brain  and  gore 
Across  the  swirling  sabres  ran ; 

To  me  each  brutal  visage  bore 

The  front  of  one  accursed  man. 

Throbbing  along  the  frenzied  vein. 

My  blood  seemed  kindled  into  song — 

The  death-dirge  of  the  sacred  slain. 

The  slogan  of  immortal  wrong. 


WAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


295 


It  glared  athwart  the  dripping  glaves, 

It  blazed  in  each  avenging  eye — 
The  thought  of  desecrated  graves, 

And  some  lone  sister’s  desperate  cry  I 


JACKSON,  THE  ALEXANDRIA  MARTYR. 

By  Wm.  H.  Holcombe,  M.  D.,  of  Virginia. 

When  Colonel  Ellsworth  with  his  forces  entered  the  city  of  Alexandria, 
Virginia,  there  was  a hotel  known  as  the  Marshall  House,  kept  by  one 
Jackson.  Over  the  house  a Confederate  flag  was  floating.  Colonel  Ells- 
worth ordered  it  down,  but  Jackson  refused  to  remove  it.  Colonel  Ells- 
worth then  proceeded  to  take  it  down  himself,  when  Jackson  shot  hiip 
dead.  Of  course,  he  in  turn  was  immediately  shot  to  death  by  Ellsworth’s 
soldiers. 

’^^jpwAS  not  the  private  insult  galled  him  most, 

But  public  outrage  of  his  country’s  flag. 

To  which  his  patriotic  heart  had  pledged 
Its  faith  as  to  a bride.  The  bold,  proud  chief, 

Th’  avenging  host,  and  the  swift-coming  death 
Appalled  him  not.  Nor  life  with  all  its  charms. 

Nor  home,  nor  wife,  nor  children  could  weigh  down 

The  fierce,  heroic  instincts  to  destroy 

The  insolent  invader.  Ellsworth  fell 

And  Jackson  perished  ’mid  the  pack  of  wolves. 

Befriended  only  by  his  own  great  heart 

And  God  approving.  More  than  Roman  soul  1 

O type  of  our  impetuous  chivalry  ! 

May  this  young  nation  ever  boast  her  sons 
A vast  and  inconceivable  multitude. 

Standing  like  thee  in  her  extremest  van. 

Self-poised  and  ready,  in  defence  of  rights 
Or  in  revenge  of  wrongs,  to  dare  and  die  ! 


29d 


lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


SONG  OF  OUR  GLORIOUS  SOUTHLAND. 

By  Mrs.  Mary  Ware. 

sing  of  our  glorious  Southland, 

The  pride  of  the  golden  sun  ! 

^Tis  the  fairest  land  of  flowers 
The  eye  e’er  looked  upon. 

Sing  of  her  orange  and  myrtle 
That  glitter  like  gems  above  ; 

Sing  of  her  dark-eyed  maidens 
As  fair  as  a dream  of  love. 

Sing  of  her  flowing  rivers — 

How  musical  their  sound  I 

Sing  of  her  da  k green  forests, 

The  Indian  hunting-ground. 

Sing  of  the  noble  nation 

Fierce  struggling  to  be  free;  ~ 

Sing  of  tlie  brave  who  barter 
Their  lives  for  liberty  ! 

Weep  for  the  maid  and  matron 

Who  mourn  their  loved  ones  slain; 

Sigh  for  the  light  departed, 

Never  to  shine  again  : 

’Tis  the  voice  of  Rachel  weeping, 
That  never  will  comfort  know  ; 

’Tis  the  wail  of  desolation. 

The  breaking  of  hearts  in  woe  I 

Ah  ! the  blood  of  Abel  crieth 

For  vengeance  from  the  sod  I 

’Tis  a brother’s  hand  that’s  lifted 
In  the  face  of  an  angry  God  I 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


297 


Oh  I brother  of  the  Northland, 

We  plead  from  our  father’s  grave ; 

We  strike  for  our  homes  and  altars, 

He  fought  to  build  and  save  I 

A smouldering  fire  is  burning, 

The  Southern  heart  is  steeled- 
Perhaps  ’twill  break  in  dying, 

But  never  will  it  yield. 


HOSPITAL  DUTIES. 

JpoLD  away  all  your  bright-tinted  dresses, 

Turn  the  key  on  your  jewels  to-day, 

And  the  wealth  of  your  tendril-like  tresses 
Braid  back  in  a serious  way ; 

No  more  delicate  gloves,  no  more  laces. 

No  more  trifling  in  boudoir  or  bower, 

But  come  with  your  souls  in  your  faces 
To  meet  the  stern  wants  of  the  hour. 

Look  around  ! By  the  torchlight  unsteady 
The  dead  and  the  dying  seem  one — 

What ! trembling  and  paling  already. 

Before  your  dear  mission’s  begun  ? 

These  wounds  are  more  precious  than  ghastly — 
Time  presses  her  lips  to  each  scar. 

While  she  chants  of  that  glory  which  vastly 
Transcends  all  the  horrors  of  war. 

Pause  here  by  this  bedside.  How  mellow 
The  light  showers  down  on  that  brow  ! 

Such  a brave,  brawny  visage,  poor  fellow  ! 

Some  homestead  is  missing  him  now. 


298 


lVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Some  wife  shades  her  eyes  in  the  clearing, 

Some  mother  sits  moaning  distressed, 

While  the  loved  one  lies  faint  but  unfearing, 

With  the  enemy^s  ball  in  his  breast. 

Here’s  another — a lad— a mere  stripling, 

Picked  up  in  the  field  almost  dead, 

With  the  blood  through  his  sunny  hair  rippling 
From  the  horrible  gash  in  the  head. 

They  say  he  was  first  in  the  action  ; 

Gay-hearted,  quick-headed,  and  witty  : 

He  fought  till  he  dropped  with  exhaustion 
At  the  gates  of  our  fair  Southern  city. 

Fought  and  fell  ’neath  the  guns  of  that  city. 

With  a spirit  transcending  his  years — 

Lift  him  up  in  your  large-hearted  pity. 

And  wet  his  pale  lips  with  your  tears. 

Touch  him  gently  ; most  sacred  the  duty 
Of  dressing  that  poor  shattered  hand ! 

God  spare  him  to  rise  in  his  beauty. 

And  battle  once  more  for  his  land  I 

Pass  on  1 it  is  useless  to  linger 

While  others  are  calling  your  care  ; 

There  is  need  for  your  delicate  finger. 

For  your  womanly  sympathy  there. 

There  are  sick  ones  athirst  for  caressing, 

There  are  dying  ones  raving  at  home. 

There  are  wounds  to  be  bound  with  a blessing, 
And  shrouds  to  make  ready  for  some. 

They  have  gathered  about  you  the  harvest 
Of  death  in  its  ghastliest  view  ; 

The  nearest  as  well  as  the  furthest 

Is  there  with  the  traitor  and  true. 


JVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


299 


And  crowned  with  your  beautiful  patience, 

Made  sunny  with  love  at  the  heart, 

You  must  balsam  the  wounds  of  the  nations, 

Nor  falter  nor  shrink  from  your  part. 

And  the  lips  of  the  mother  will  bless  you, 

And  angels,  sweet-visaged  and  pale. 

And  the  little  ones  run  to  caress  you, 

And  the  wives  and  the  sisters  cry  hail ! 

But  e’en  if  you  drop  down  unheeded, 

What  matter  ? God’s  ways  are  the  best ; 

You  have  poured  out  your  life  where  ’twas  needed. 
And  He  will  take  care  of  the  rest. 


THEY  CRY,  ‘‘  PEACE,  PEACE,”  WHEN  THERE  IS  NO 

PEACE. 

are  ringing  peace  on  my  heavy  ear — 

No  peace  to  my  heavy  heart ! v 

They  are  ringing  peace,  I hear ! I hear  I 
0 God  ! how  my  hopes  depart! 

They  are  ringing  peace  from  the  mountain  side ; 

With  a hollow  voice  it  comes — 

They  are  ringing  peace  o’er  the  foaming  tide 
And  its  echoes  fill  our  homes. 

They  are  ringing  peace,  and  the  spring-time  blooms 
Like  a garden  fresh  and  fair; 

But  our  martyrs  sleep  in  their  silent  tombs — 

Do  they  hear  that  sound — do  they  hear  ? 

They  are  ringing  peace,  and  the  battle  cry 
And  the  bayonet’s  w^ork  are  done, 

And  the  armor  bright  they  are  laying  by, 

From  the  brave  sire  to  the  son. 


300 


IVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  the  musket's  clang,  and  the  soldier’s  drill, 

And  the  tattoo’s  nightly  sound  ; 

We  shall  hear  no  more  with  a joyous  thrill, 

Peace  ! Peace  ! they  are  ringing  round  I 

There  are  women,  still  as  the  stifled  air 
On  the  burning  desert’s  track. 

Not  a cry  of  joy,  not  a welcome  cheer — 

And  the  brave  ones  coming  back  I 

There  are  fair  young  heads  in  their  morning  pride, 
Like  the  lilies  pale  they  bow ; 

Just  a memory  left  to  the  soldier’s  bride — 

Ah,  God  ! sustain  her  now ! 

There  are  martial  steps  that  we  may  not  hear  I 
There  are  forms  w^e  may  not  see  I 
Death’s  muster  roll  they  have  answered  clear, 
They  are  free  I thank  God,  they  are  free! 

Not  a fetter  fast,  nor  a prisoner’s  chain 
For  the  noble  army  gone — 

No  conqueror  comes  o’er  the  heavenly  plain — 

Peace  I Peace  I to  the  dead  alone  I 

They  are  ringing  peace,  but  strangers  tread 
O’er  the  land  where  our  fathers  trod. 

And  our  birthright  joys,  like  a dream  have  fled. 
And  Thou  I where  art  Thou,  O God  ? 

They  are  ringing  peace  I not  here,  not  here, 

Where  the  victor’s  mark  is  set. 

Roll  back  to  the  North  its  mocking  cheer — 

No  peace  to  the  Southland  yet  I 


FIRST  PAGE  OF  THE  PERMANENT  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE 
CONFEDERATE  STATES  AS  REPORTED  BY  THE  COMMITTEE 

This  is  the  hanclwritiiig  of  General  Thomas  R.  B.  Cobb,  who  was  a member  of  the 
Committee.  Taken  from  the  orisrinal  wliich  is  in  possession  of  ^Ir.  A.  L.  Hull, 
Athens,  Georgia,  and  used  by  permission. 


WAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


301 


We  may  sheathe  the  sword,  and  the  rifle-gun 
We  may  hang  on  the  cottage  wall, 

And  the  bayonet  brave,  sharp  duty  done, 

From  the  soldier’s  arm  it  may  fall. 

But  peace  I No  peace  ! till  the  same  good  sword. 
Drawn  out  from  its  scabbard  be, 

And  the  wide  world  list  to  my  country’s  word. 
And  the  South  I Oh,  the  South,  be  free! 


BALLAD— ‘‘ WHAT  HAVE  YE  THOUGHT?” 

I have  ye  thought  to  pluck 
Victory  from  chance  and  luck, 
Triumph  from  clamorous  shout,  without  a will  ? 
Without  the  heart  to  brave 
All  peril  to  the  grave. 

And  battle  on  its  brink,  unshrinking  still  ? 

And  did  ye  dream  success 
Would  still  unvarying  bless 
Your  arms,  nor  meet  reverse  in  some  dread  fleld? 
And  shall  an  adverse  hour 
Make  ye  mistrust  the  power 
Of  virtue,  in  your  souls,  to  make  your  enemy  yield  ? 

Oh  I from  this  dreary  sleep 
Arise,  and  upward  leap. 

Nor  let  your  hearts  grow  palsied  with  dismay  I 
Fling  out  your  banner  high. 

Still  challenging  the  sky, 

While  thousand  strong  arms  bear  it  on  its  way. 


302 


lVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Forth,  as  a sacred  band, 

Sworn  saviours  of  the  land. 

Chosen  by  God,  the  champions  of  the  right  I 
And  never  doubt  that  He 
WIio  made  will  keep  you  free. 

If  thus  your  souls  resolve  to  triumph  in  the  fight  I 

The  felon  foe,  no  more 
Trampling  the  sacred  shore. 

Shall  leave  defiling  footprint  on  the  sod ; 

Where,  desperate  in  the  strife. 

Reckless  of  wounds  and  life, 

Ye  brave  your  myriad  foes  beneath  the  eye  of  God  I 

On  brothers,  comrades,  men. 

Rush  to  the  field  again ; 

Home,  peace,  love,  safety — freedom — are  the  price ! 
Strike  ! while  the  arm  can  bear 
Weapon — and  do  not  spare — 

Ye  break  a felon  bond  in  every  foe  that  dies  ! 


JACKSON. 

"VT OT  midst  the  lightning  of  the  stormy  fight, 

Nor  in  the  rush  upon  the  vandal  foe. 

Did  kingly  death,  with  his  resistless  might. 

Lay  the  great  leader  low. 

His  warrior  soul  its  earthly  shackles  broke. 

In  the  full  sunshine  of  a peaceful  town  : 

When  all  the  storm  was  hushed,  the  trusty  oak 
That  propped  our  cause  went  down. 

Though  his  alone  the  blood  that  flocks  the  ground, 
Recalling  all  his  grand  heroic  deeds 
Freedom  herself  is  writhing  with  the  wound, 

And  all  the  country  bleeds. 


IVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


303 


He  entered  not  the  nation’s  promised  land, 

At  the  red  belching  of  the  cannon’s  mouth  : 

But  broke  the  house  of  bondage  with  his  hand — 
The  Moses  of  the  South  ! 

O gracious  God  ! not  gainless  in  the  loss ; 

A glorious  sunbeam  gilds  the  sternest  frown  ; 
And  while  his  country  staggers  with  the  cross, 
He  rise  with  the  crown  I 


MISSING. 

Jn  the  cool,  sweet  hush  of  a wooded  nook, 

Where  the  May  buds  sprinkle  the  green  old  mound. 
And  the  winds  and  the  birds  and  the  limpid  brook. 
Murmur  their  dreams  with  a drowsy  sound  ; 

Who  lies  so  still  in  the  plushy  moss. 

With  his  pale  clieek  pressed  on  a breezy  pillow. 
Couched  where  the  light  and  the  shadows  cross 
Through  the  flickering  fringe  of  the  willow  ? 

Who  lies,  alas  I- 

So  still,  so  chill,  in  tlie  whispering  grass  ? 

A soldier  clad  in  the  Zouave  dress, 

A bright-haired  man,  with  his  lips  apart. 

One  hand  thrown  up  o’er  his  frank,  dead  face. 

And  the  other  clutching  his  pulseless  heart, 

Lies  here  in  the  shadows,  cool  and  dim. 

His  musket  swept  by  a trailing  bough. 

With  a careless  grace  in  each  quiet  limb. 

And  a wound  on  his  manly  brow 
A wound,  alas ! 

Whence  the  warm  blood  drips  on  the  quiet  grass. 


304 


WAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  violets  peer  from  their  dusky  beds, 

With  a tearful  dew  in  their  great,  pure  eyes ; 

The  lilies  quiver  their  shining  heads. 

Their  pale  lips  full  of  a sad  surprise  ; 

And  the  lizard  darts  through  the  glistening  fern — 
And  the  squirrel  rustles  the  branches  hoary ; 

Strange  birds  fly  out,  with  a cry,  to  bathe 
Their  wings  in  the  sunset  glory ; 

While  the  shadows  pass 

O’er  the  quiet  face  and  the  dewy  grass. 

God  pity  the  bride  who  waits  at  home. 

With  her  lily  cheeks* and  her  violet  eyes, 

Dreaming  the  sweet  old  dreams  of  love, 

While  her  lover  is  walking  in  Paradise ; 

God  strengthen  her  heart  as  the  days  go  by, 

And  the  long,  drear  nights  of  her  vigil  follow, 

Nor  bird,  nor  moon,  nor  whispering  wind, 

May  breathe  the  tale  of  the  hollow  ; 

Alas  ! alas  ! 

The  secret  is  safe  with  the  woodland  grass. 


SONNET. 

"D  isE  from  your  gory  ashes  stern  and  pale, 

A^e  martyred  thousands ! and  with  dreadful  ire, 
A voice  of  doom,  a front  of  gloomy  fire, 

Rebuke  those  faithless  souls,  whose  querulous  wail 
Disturbs  your  sacred  sleep ! — ‘‘  The  withering  hail 
Of  battle,  hunger,  pestilence,  despair. 

Whatever  of  mortal  anguish  man  may  bear, 

We  bore  unmurmuring  ! strengthened  by  the  mail 
Of  a most  holy  purpose  1 then  we  died ! — 

Vex  not  our  rest  by  cries  of  selfish  pain, 

But  to  the  noblest  measure  of  your  powers 
Endure  the  appointed  trial ! Griefs  defied. 

But  launch  their  threatening  thunderbolts  in  vain, 
And  angry  storms  pass  by  in  gentlest  showers  I** 


li/AJ?  SONGS  OF  THF  CONFEDERACY 


306 


ODE— “SOULS  OF  HEROES/' 

OouLS  of  heroes,  ascended  from  fields  Ye  have  won, 

Still  smile  on  the  conflict  so  greatly  begun; 

Bring  succor  to  comrade,  to  brother,  to  son 

Now  breasting  the  battle  in  ranks  of  the  brave ; 

And  the  dastard  that  loiters,  the  conflict  to  shun, 

Pursue  him  with  scorn  to  the  grave  I 

Pursue  him  with  furies  that  goad  to  despair. 

Hunt  him  out,  where  he  crouches  in  crevice  and  lair, 

Drive  him  forth,  while  the  wife  of  his  bosom  cries — “ There 
Goes  the  coward  that  skulks,  though  his  sister  and  wife 
Tremble  nightly  in  sleep,  overshadowed  by  fear 
Of  a sacrifice  dearer  than  life/' 

There  are  thousands  that  loiter,  of  historied  claim, 

Who  boast  of  the  heritage  shrined  in  each  name — 

Sting  their  souls  to  the  quick,  till  they  shrink  from  the  shame 
Which  dishonors  the  names  and  the  past  of  their  boast ; 
Even  now  they  may  win  the  best  guerdon  of  fame. 

And  retrieve  the  bright  honors  they’ve  lost  I 

Even  now,  while  their  country  is  torn  in  the  toils. 

While  the  wild  boar  is  raging  to  raven  the  spoils, 

While  the  boa  is  spreading  around  us  the  coils 

Which  would  strangle  the  freedom  our  ancestors  gave  ; 
But  each  soul  must  be  quickened  until  it  o’er-boils. 

Every  muscle  be  corded  to  save ! 

Still  the  cause  is  the  same  which,  in  long  ages  gone. 

Roused  up  your  great  sires,  so  gallantly  known. 

When,  braving  the  tyrant,  the  sceptre  and  throne. 

They  rushed  to  the  conflict,  despising  the  odds ; 

Armed  with  bow,  spear,  and  scythe,  and  with  sling  and  with 
stone. 

For  their  homes  and  their  family  goods  I 
20 


iVAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


oOt) 


Shall  we  be  less  worthy  the  sacrifice  grand, 

The  heritage  noble  we  took  at  their  hand, 

The  peace  and  the  comfort,  the  fruits  of  the  land ; 

And,  sunk  in  a torpor  as  hopeless  as  base, 

Kecoil  from  the  shock  of  the  Sodomite  band, 

That  would  ruin  the  realm  and  the  race  ? 

Souls  of  heroes,  ascended  from  fields  ye  have  won, 

A"our  toils  are  not  closed  in  the  deeds  ye  have  done  ; 
Touch  the  souls  of  each  laggard  and  profligate  son. 

The  greed  and  the  sloth,  and  the  cowardice  shame  ; 
Till  we  rise  to  complete  the  great  work  ye’ve  begun. 
And  with  freedom  make  conquest  of  fame  I 


THE  OLD  RIFLEMAN. 

By  Frank  Ticknor,  of  Georgia. 

^^^ow  bring  me  out  my  buckskin  suit ! 

My  pouch  and  powder,  too  ! 

We’ll  see  if  seventy-six  can  shoot 
As  sixteen  used  to  do. 

Old  Bess  ! we’ve  kept  our  barrels  bright ! 

Our  trigger  quick  and  true  ! 

As  far,  if  not  as  fine  a sight. 

As  long  ago  we  drew  I 

And  pick  me  out  a trusty  flint  I 
A real  white  and  blue. 

Perhaps  ’twill  win  the  other  tint 
Before  the  hunt  is  through  I 


lVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


307 


Give  boys  your  brass  percussion  caps  I 
Old  ‘^shut-pan  ’’  suits  as  well  I 
There’s  something  in  the  sparks  : perhaps 
There’s  something  in  the  smell  I 

We’ve  seen  the  red-coat  Briton  bleed  ! 

The  red-skin  Indian,  too  1 
We’ve  never  thought  to  draw  a bead 
On  Yankee-doodle-doo  I 

But,  Bessie  ! bless  your  dear  old  heart  I 
Those  days  are  mostly  done  ; 

And  now  we  must  revive  the  art 
Of  shooting  on  the  run  ! 

If  Doodle  must  be  meddling,  why, 

There’s  only  this  to  do — 

Select  the  black  spot  in  his  eye, 

And  let  the  daylight  through  I 

And  if  he  doesn’t  like  the  way 
That  Bess  presents  the  view, 

He’ll  maybe  change  his  mind,  and  stay 
Where  the  good  Doodles  do  I 

We’ll  teach  these  shot-gun  boys  the  tricks 
By  which  a war  is  won ; 

Especially  how  Seventy-six 
Took  Tories  on  the  run. 


308 


JVAJ?  SONCS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


SONNET— THE  SHIP  OF  STATE. 

JJere  lie  the  peril  and  necessity 

That  need  a race  of  giants — a great  realm, 
With  not  one  noble  leader  at  the  helm  ; 
And  the  great  Ship  of  State  still  driving  high, 
’Midst  breakers,  on  a lee  shore — to  the  rocks. 
With  ever  and  anon  most  terrible  shocks — 
The  crew  aghast,  and  fear  in  every  eye. 

Yet  in  the  gracious  Providence  still  nigh  ; 

And,  if  our  cause  be  just,  our  hearts  be  true. 
We  shall  save  goodly  ship  and  gallant  crew, 
Nor  suffer  shipwreck  of  our  liberty  1 
It  needs  that  as  a people  we  arise. 

With  solemn  purpose  that  even  fate  defies, 
And  brave  all  perils  with  unblenching  eye  I 


‘HN  HIS  BLANKET  ON  THE  GROUND” 

By  Caroline  H.  Gervais,  Charleston. 

EARY  ? weary  lies  the  soldier, 

In  his  blanket  on  the  ground 
With  no  sweet  “ Good-night  ” to  cheer  him. 
And  no  tender  voice’s  sound, 

Making  music  in  the  darkness, 

Making  light  his  toilsome  hours, 

Like  a sunbeam  in  the  forest, 

Or  a tomb  wrestled  o’er  with  flowers. 

Thoughtful,  hushed,  he  lies,  and  tearful, 

As  his  memories  sadly  roam 
To  the  “ cozy  little  parlor  ” 

And  the  loved  ones  of  his  home ; 


GENERAL  BRAXTON  BRAGG  GEN ERAL WADE  HAM PTON 


JVAI?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


309 


And  his  waking  and  his  dreaming 
Softly  braid  themselves  in  one, 

As  the  twilight  is  the  mingling 
Of  the  starlight  and  the  sun. 

And  when  sleep  descends  upon  him, 

Still  his  thought  within  his  dream 
Is  of  home,  and  friends,  and  loved  ones, 

And  his  busy  fancies  seem 
To  be  real,  as  they  wander 

To  his  mother’s  cherished  form. 

As  she  gently  said,  in  parting, 

Thine  in  sunshine  and  in  storm  : 

Thine  in  helpless  childhood’s  morning. 

And  in  boyhood’s  joyous  time, 

Thou  must  leave  me  now — God  watch  thee 
In  thy  manhood’s  ripened  prime.” 

Or,  mayhap,  amid  the  phantoms 

Teeming  thick  within  his  brain, 

His  dear  father’s  locks,  o’er- silvered. 

Come  to  greet  his  view  again  ; 

And  he  hears  his  trembling  accents, 

Like  a clarion  ringing  high, 

‘‘  Since  not  mine  are  youth  and  strength,  boy. 
Thou  must  victor  prove,  or  die.” 

Or  perchance  he  hears  a whisper 
Of  the  faintest,  faintest  sigh. 

Something  deeper  than  word-spoken, 

Something  breathing  of  a tie 
Near  his  soul  as  bounding  heart-blood ; 

It  is  hers,  that  patient  wife — 

And  again  that  parting  seemeth 
Like  the  taking  leave  of  life : 


310 


IVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  her  last  kiss  he  remembers, 

And  the  agonizing  thrill, 

And  the  Must  you  go  ? and  answer, 

I but  know  my  Country’s  will.’^ 

Or  the  little  children  gather, 

Half  in  wonder,  round  his  knees; 

And  the  faithful  dog,  mute,  watchful, 

In  the  mystic  glass  he  sees  ; 

And  the  voice  of  song,  and  pictures, 

And  the  simplest  homestead  flowers. 
Unforgotten,  crowd  before  him 

In  the  solemn  midnight  hours. 

Then  his  thoughts  in  Dreamland  wander 
To  a sister’s  sweet  caress. 

And  he  feels  her  dear  lips  quiver 
As  his  own  they  fondly  press  ; 

And  he  hears  her  proudly  saying, 

(Though  sad  tears  are  in  her  eyes). 

Brave  men  fall,  but  live  in  story. 

For  the  Hero  never  dies ! ” 

Or,  perhaps,  his  brown  cheek  flushes. 

And  his  heart  beats  quicker  now. 

As  he  thinks  of  one  who  gave  him 

Him,  the  loved  one,  love’s  sweet  vow ; 
And,  ah,  fondly  he  remembers 
He  is  still  her  dearest  care. 

Even  in  his  star- watched  slumber 

That  she  pleads  for  him  in  prayer. 

Oh,  the  soldier  will  be  dreaming. 

Dreaming  often  of  us  all, 

(When  the  damp  earth  is  his  pillow. 

And  the  snow  and  cold  sleet  fall), 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


811 


Of  the  dear,  familiar  faces, 

Of  the  cozy,  curtained  room, 

Of  the  flitting  of  the  shado\ys 

In  the  twilight’s  })ensive  gloom. 

Or  when  summer  suns  burn  o’er  him. 

Bringing  drought  and  dread  disease, 
And  the  throes  of  wasting  fever 

Come  his  weary  frame  to  seize — 

In  the  restless  sleep  of  sickness, 

Doomed,  perchance,  to  martyr  death, 
Hear  him  whisper  “ Home  ” sweet  cadence, 
With  his  quickened,  labored  breath. 

Then  God  bless  him,  bless  the  soldier. 

And  God  nerve  him  for  the  fight ; 

May  He  lend  his  arm  new  prowess 
To  do  battle  for  the  right. 

Let  him  feel  that  wliile  he’s  dreaming 
In  his  fitful  slumber  bound. 

That  we’re  praying — (md  watch  o’er  him 
In  his  blanket  on  the  ground. 


THE  UNKNOWN  DEAD. 

Bv  Hr:xKV  Timrod. 

rain  is  plashing  on  my  sill, 

But  all  the  vuiids  of  heaven  are  still  ; 
And  so,  it  falls  with  that  dull  sound 
Which  thrills  us  in  the  churchyard  ground. 
When  the  first  s[)a(leful  drops  like  lead 
Upon  the  coffin  of  the  dead. 

Beyond  my  streaming  window-pane, 

I cannot  see  the  neighboring  vane. 

Yet  from  its  old  familiar  tower 

The  bell  comes,  muffled,  through  the  shower, 

Wffiat  strange  and  unsuspected  link 


312 


lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Of  feeling  touched  has  made  me  think — 
While  with  a vacant  soul  and  eye 
I watch  that  gray  and  stony  sky — 

Of  nameless  graves  on  battle  plains, 
Washed  by  a single  winter’s  rains, 

Where,  some  beneath  Virginian  hills, 
And  some  by  green  Atlantic  rills. 

Some  by  the  waters  of  the  West, 

A myriad  unknown  heroes  rest. 

Ah  ! not  the  chiefs  who,  dying,  see 
Their  flags  in  front  of  victory. 

Or,  at  their  life-blood’s  noblest  cost 
Pay  for  a battle  nobly  lost, 

(daim  from  their  monumental  beds 
The  bitterest  tears  a nation  sheds. 
Beneath  yon  lonely  mound — the  spot. 

By  all  save  some  fond  few  forgot — 

Lie  the  true  martyrs  of  the  fight. 

Which  strikes  for  freedom  and  for  right. 
Of  them,  their  patriot  zeal  and  pride, 

The  lofty  faith  that  with  them  died. 

No  grateful  page  shall  further  tell 
Than  that  so  many  bravely  fell ; 

And  we  can  only  dimly  guess 
What  worlds  of  all  this  world’s  distress. 
What  utter  woe,  despair,  and  dearth. 
Their  kite  has  brought  to  many  a hearth. 
Just  such  a sky  as  this  should  weep 
Above  them,  always,  where  they  sleep ; 
Yet,  haply,  at  this  very  hour, 

Their  graves  are  like  a lover’s  bower; 
And  Nature’s  self,  with  eyes  unwet 
Oblivious  of  the  crimson  debt 
To  which  she  owes  her  April  grace, 
Laughs  gayly  o’er  their  burial  place. 


lVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


313 


ENGLAND’S  NEUTRALITY. 

A Parliamentary  Debate. 

By  John  R.  Thompson,  of  Richmond,  Virginia. 

ye  who  with  credulity  the  whispers  hear  of  fancy, 

Or  yet  pursue  with  eagerness  hope’s  wild  extravagancy, 
Who  dream  that  England  soon  will  drop  her  long  miscalled 
neutrality. 

And  give  us,  with  a hearty  shake,  the  hand  of  nationality. 

Read,  as  we  give,  with  little  fault  of  statement  or  omission. 
The  next  debate  in  Parliament  on  Southern  Recognition  ; 
They’re  all  so  much  alike,  indeed,  that  one  can  write  it  off,  I see. 
As  truly  as  the  Times''  report,  without  the  gift  of  prophecy. 

Not  yet,  not  yet  to  interfere  does  England  see  occasion. 

But  treats  our  good  commissioner  with  coolness  and  evasion  ; 
Such  coolness  in  the  premises,  that  really  ’tis  refrigerant  • 

To  think  that  two  long  years  ago  she  called  us  a belligerent. 

But,  further.  Downing  Street  is  dumb,  the  Premier  deaf  to 
reason. 

As  deaf  as  is  the  Morning  Post,  both  in  and  out  of  season  ; 

The  working  men  of  Lancashire  are  all  reduced  to  beggary. 
And  yet  they  will  not  listen  unto  Roebuck  or  to  Gregory. 

Or  any  other  man,”  to-day,  who  counsels  interfering, 

While  all  who  speak  on  t’other  side  obtain  a ready  hearing — 
As,  per  exemple,  Mr.  Bright,  that  pink  of  all  propriety, 

That  meek  and  mild  disciple  of  the  blessed  Peace  Society. 

Why,  let  ’em  fight,”  says  Mr.  Bright,  ‘‘  those  Southerners,  I 
hate  ’em. 

And  hope  the  Black  Republicans  will  soon  exterminate  ’em  ; 
If  freedom  can’t  rebellion  crush,  pray  tell  me  what’s  the  use 
of  her?” 

And  so  he  chuckles  o’er  the  fray  as  gleefully  as  Lucifer. 


314 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Enough  of  him — an  abler  man  demands  our  close  attention — 
The  Maximus  Apollo  of  strict  non-intervention — 

With  pitiless  severity,  though  decorous  and  calm  his  tone, 
Thus  spake  the  “ old  man  eloquent,”  the  puissant  Earl  of 
Palmerston  : 

“ What  though  the  land  run  red  with  blood,  what  though  the 
lurid  flashes 

Of  cannon  light,  at  dead  of  night,  a mournful  heap  of  ashes 
Where  many  an  ancient  mansion  stood — what  though  the 
robber  pillages 

The  sacred  home,  the  house  of  God,  in  twice  a hundred  villages. 

“ What  though  a flendish,  nameless  wrong,  that  makes  revenge 
a duty, 

Is  daily  done”  (O  Lord,  how  long?)  “to  tenderness  and  beauty!” 
(And  who  shall  tell  this  deed  of  hell,  how  deadlier  far  a curse  it  is 
Than  even  pulling  temples  down  and  burning  universities)? 

“ Let  arts  decay,  let  millions  fall,  aye,  let  freedom  perish. 

With  all  that  in  the  Western  world  men  fain  would  love  and 
cherish  ; 

Let  universal  ruin  there  become  a sad  reality  ; 

We  cannot  swerve,  we  must  preserve  our  rigorous  neutrality,” 

Oh,  Pam  ! oh,  Pam  ! hast  ever  read  what’s  writ  in  holy  pages, 
How  blessed  the  peace-makers  are,  God’s  children  of  the  ages? 
Perhaps  you  think  the  promise  sweet  was  nothing  but  a 
platitude ; 

’Tis  clear  that  you  have  no  concern  in  that  divine  beatitude. 

But  “ hear  ! hear  ! hear  I ” another  Peer,  that  mighty  man  of 
muscle. 

Is  on  his  legs,  what  slender  pegs  ! “Ye  noble  Earl  ” of  Bussell ; 
Thus  might  he  speak,  did  not  of  speech  his  shrewd  reserve 
the  folly  see. 

And  thus  unfold  the  subtle  plan  of  England’s  secret  policy. 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


315 


‘‘  John  Bright  was  right,  yes,  let  ’em  fight,  these  fools  across 
the  water, 

’Tis  no  affiiir  at  all  of  ours,  their  carnival  of  slaughter; 

The  Christian  world,  indeed,  may  say  we  ought  not  to  allow 
it,  sirs. 

But  still,  ’tis  music  in  our  ears,  this  roar  of  Yankee  howitzers. 

A word  or  two  of  sympathy,  that  costs  us  not  a penny. 

We  give  the  gallant  Southerners,  the  few  against  the  many; 

We  say  their  noble  fortitude  of  final  triumph  presages. 

And  praise  in  ‘ Blackwood’s  Magazine,’  Jeff.  Davis  and  his 
messages. 

Of  course,  we  claim  the  shining  fame  of  glorious  Stonewall 
Jacksoai, 

Who  typifies  the  English  race,  a sterling  Anglo-Saxon  ; 

To  bravest  song  his  deeds  belong,  to  Clio  and  Melpomene  ” — 

(And  why  not  for  a British  stream  demand  the  Chicka- 
hominy  ?) 

But  for  the  cause  in  which  we  fell  we  cannot  lift  a finger, 

’Tis  idle  on  the  question  any  longer  here  to  linger; 

’Tis  true  the  South  has  freely  bled,  her  sorrows  are 
Homeric,  oh  ! 

Her  case  is  like  to  his  of  old  who  journeyed  unto  Jericho. 

“ The  thieves  have  stripped  and  bruised,  although  as  yet  they 
have  not  bound  her. 

We’d  like  to  see  her  slay  ’em  all  to  right  and  left  around  her; 

We  shouldn’t  cry  in  parliament  if  Lee  should  cross  the 
Raritan, 

But  England  never  yet  was  known  to  play  the  Good  Samaritan, 

And  so  we  pass  the  other  side,  and  leave  them  to  their  glory. 

To  give  new  proofs  of  manliness,  new  scenes  for  song  and  story  ; 

These  honeyed  words  of  compliment  may  possibly  bam- 
boozle ’em. 

But  ere  we  intervene,  you  know,  we’ll  see  ’em  in — Jerusalem. 


316 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Yes,  let  ^em  fight,  till  both  are  brought  to  liopeless  deso- 
lation. 

Till  woh^es  troop  round  the  cottage  door  in  one  and  t’other 
nation, 

Till,  worn  and  broken  down,  the  South  shall  prove  no  more 
refractory, 

And  rust  eats  up  the  silent  looms  in  every  Yankee  factory. 

Till  bursts  no  more  the  cotton  boll  o’er  fields  of  Carolina, 
And  fills  with  snowy  fiosses  the  dusky  hands  of  Dinah  ; 

Till  war  has  dealt  its  final  blow,  and  Mr.  Seward’s  knavery 
Has  put  an  end  in  all  the  land  to  freedom  and  to  slavery. 

The  grim  Bastile,  the  rack,  the  wheel,  without  remorse  of  pity. 
May  flourish  with  the  guillotine  in  every  Yankee  city ; 

Xo  matter  should  old  Abe  revive  the  brazen  bull  of  Phalaris, 

’ Tis  no  concern  at  all  of  ours  ’ (sensation  in  the  galleries.). 

“So  shall  our  ‘merry  England’  thrive  on  trans- Atlantic 
troubles, 

While  India,  on  her  distant  plains,  her  crop  of  cotton  doubles; 
And  just  so  long  as  North  or  South  shall  show  the  least 
vitality, 

We  cannot  swerve,  we  must  preserve  our  rigorous  neutrality.” 

Your  speech,  my  lord,  might  well  become  a Saxon  legislator, 
When  the  “fine  old  English  gentlemen”  lived  in  a state  of 
natur’. 

When  Vikings  quaffed  from  human  skulls  their  fiery  draughts 
of  honey  mead. 

Long,  long  before  the  barons  bold  met  tyrant  John  at  Runny- 
mede. 

But  ’tis  a speech  so  plain,  my  lord,  that  all  may  understand  it, 
And  so  we  quickly  turn  again  to  fight  the  Yankee  bandit. 
Convinced  that  we  shall  fairly  win  at  last  our  nationality. 
Without  the  help  of  Britain’s  arm,  in  spite  of  her  neutrality. 


GENERAL  FITZHUGH  LEE  GEN  ER  A L STEPH  E N D.  LEE 

The  Hero  o'*  Two  Wars. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


317 


THE  SEA-KINGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

By  Edward  C.  Bruce,  of  Winchester,  Va. 

jpuLL  many  have  sung  of  the  victories  our  warriors  have  won. 
From  Bethel,  by  the  eastern  tide,  to  sunny  Galveston, 

On  fair  Potomac’s  classic  shore,  by  sweeping  Tennessee, 

Hill,  rock,  and  river  shall  tell  forever  the  vengeance  of  the  free. 

The  air  still  rings  with  the  cannon-shot,  with  battle’s  breath 
is  warm ; 

Still  on  the  hills  their  swords  have  saved  our  legions  wheel 
and  form  ; 

And  Johnston,  Beauregard,  and  Lee,  with  all  their  gallant 
train. 

Wait  yet  at  their  head,  in  silence  dread,  the  hour  to  charge 
again. 

But  a ruggeder  field  than  the  mountain-side — a broader  field 
than  the  plain. 

Is  spread  for  the  fight  in  the  stormy  wave  and  the  globe- 
embracing main. 

’Tis  there  the  keel  of  the  goodly  ship  must  trace  the  fate  of 
the  land. 

For  the  name  ye  write  in  the  sea-foam  white  shall  first  and 
longest  stand. 

For  centuries  on  centuries,  since  first  the  hallowed  tree 

Was  launched  by  the  lone  mariner  on  some  primeval  sea. 

No  stouter  stuff  than  the  heart  of  oak,  or  tough  elastic  pine. 

Had  floated  beyond  the  shallow  shoal  to  pass  the  burning  Line. 

The  Naiad  and  the  Dryad  met  in  billow  and  in  spar ; 

The  forest  fought  at  Salamis,  the  grove  at  Trafalgar. 

Old  Tubalcain  had  sweated  amain  to  forge  the  brand  and  ball ; 

But  failed  to  frame  the  mighty  hull  that  held  enfortressed  all. 


318 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Six  thousand  years  had  waited  for  our  gallant  tars  to 
show 

That  iron  was  to  ride  the  wave  and  timber  sink  below. 

The  waters  bland  that  welcomed  first  the  white  man  to  our 
shore, 

Columbus,  of  an  iron  world,  the  brave  Buchanan  bore. 

Not  gun  for  gun,  but  thirty  to  one,  the  odds  he  had  to 
meet ! 

( )ne  craft,  untried  of  wind  or  tide,  to  beard  a haughty  fleet  I 

Above  her  shattered  relics  now  the  billow  break  and  pour  ; 

But  the  glory  of  that  wondrous  day  shall  be  hers  fore  ever- 
more. 

See  yonder  speck  on  the  mist  afar,  as  dim  as  in  a dream  1 

Anear  it  speeds,  there  are  masts  like  reeds  and  a tossing  plume 
of  steam  ! 

Fleet,  fierce,  and  gaunt,  with  bows  aslant,  she  dashes  proudly 
on. 

Whence  and  whither,  her  prey  to  gather,  the  foe  shall  learn 
anon. 

Oh,  broad  and  green  is  her  hunting-park,  and  plentiful  the 
game  ! 

From  the  restless  bay  of  old  Biscay  to  the  Carib’  sea  she 
came. 

The  catchers  of  the  whale  she  caught ; swift  Ariel  overhauled ; 

And  made  Hatteras  know  the  hardest  blow  that  ever  a tar 
appalled. 

She  bears  the  name  of  a noble  State,  and  sooth  she  bears  it 
well. 

To  us  she  hath  made  it  a word  of  pride,  to  the  Northern  ear 
a knell. 

To  the  Puritan  in  the  busy  mart,  the  Puritan  on  his  deck. 

With  “ Alabama  visions  start  of  ruin,  woe,  and  wreck. 


tVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


319 


In  vain  his  lubberly  squadrons  round  her  magic  pathway 
swoop — 

Admiral,  captain,  commodore,  in  gunboat,  frigate,  sloop. 

Save  to  snatch  a prize,  or  a foe  chastise,  as  their  feeble  art  she 
foils. 

She  will  scorn  a point  from  her  course  to  veer,  to  baffle  all  their 
toils. 

And  bravely  doth  her  sister-ship  begin  her  young  career. 

Already  hath  her  gentle  name  become  a name  of  fear ; 

The  name  that  breathes  of  the  orange-bloom,  of  soft  lagoons 
that  roll 

Round  the  home  of  the  Roman  of  the  West-  -the  unconquered 
Seminole. 

Like  the  albatross  and  the  tropic-bird,  forever  on  the  wing. 

For  them  nor  night  nor  breaking  morn  may  peace  nor  shelter 
bring. 

All  dripping  from  the  weary  cruise  or  shattered  from  the 
fight, 

No  dear  home-haven  opes  to  them  its  arms  of  welcome  bright. 

Then  side  by  side,  in  our  love  and  pride,  be  our  men  of  the 
land  and  sea; 

The  fewer  these,  the  sterner  task,  the  greater  their  guerdon  be  1 

The  fairest  wreaths  of  amaranth  the  fairest  hands  shall  twine 

For  the  brows  of  our  preux  chevaliers,  the  Bayards  of  the 
brine  I 

The  ‘‘  stars  and  bars  of  our  cturdy  tars  as  gallantly  shall 
wave 

As  long  shall  live  in  the  storied  page,  or  the  spirit-stirring 
stave. 

As  hath  the  red  cross  of  St.  George  or  the  raven-flag  of 
Thor, 

Or  flag  of  the  sea,  whate’er  it  be,  that  ever  unfurled  to  war. 


320 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Then  flout  full  high  to  their  parent  sky  those  circled  stars  of  ours, 
Where’er  the  dark-hulled  foeman  floats,  where’er  his  emblem 
towers  ! 

Speak  for  the  right,  for  the  truth  and  light,  from  the  gun’s 
unmuzzled  mouth,  * 

And  the  fame  of  the  Dane  revive  again,  ye  Vikings  of  the  South! 


CLOSE  THE  RANKS. 

By  John  L.  O’Sullivan. 
fell  invader  is  before  ! 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 
We’ll  hunt  his  legions  from  our  shore. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  ! 

Our  wives,  our  children  are  behind. 

Our  mothers,  sisters,  dear  and  kind. 

Their  voices  reach  us  on  the  wind. 

Close  the  ranks ! Close  up  the  ranks  ! 

Are  we  to  bend  to  slavish  yoke  ? 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  ! 
AVe’ll  bend  when  bends  our  Southern  oak. 

Close  the  ranks  1 Close  up  the  ranks  I 
On  with  the  line  of  serried  steel. 

We  all  can  die,  we  none  can  kneel 
To  crouch  beneath  the  Northern  heel. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 

We  kneel  to  God,  and  God  alone. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks ! 

One  heart  in  all — all  hearts  as  one. 

Close  the  ranks  I Close  up  the  ranks  1 
For  home,  for  country,  truth  and  right, 

We  stand  or  fall  in  freedom’s  fight : 

In  such  a cause  the  right  is  might. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


321 


We’re  here  from  every  Southern  home. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 
Fond,  weeping  voices  bade  us  come. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 
The  husband,  brother,  boy,  and  sire, 

All  burning  with  one  holy  fire — 

Our  country’s  love  our  only  hire. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  ! 

We  cannot  fail,  we  will  not  yield ! 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 
Our  bosoms  are  our  country’s  shield. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  ! 
By  Washington’s  immortal  name. 

By  Stonewall  Jackson’s  kindred  fame. 
Their  souls,  their  deeds,  their  cause  the  same, 
Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 

By  all  we  hope,  by  all  we  love. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  ! 

By  home  on  eartli,  by  heaven  above, 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 
By  all  the  tears,  and  heart’s  blood  shed, 

By  all  our  hosts  of  martyred  dead, 

We’ll  conquer,  or  we’ll  share  their  bed. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 

The  front  may  fall,  the  rear  succeed, 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 
We  smile  in  triumph  as  we  bleed. 

Close  the  ranks  ! Close  up  the  ranks  I 
Our  Southern  Cross  above  us  waves. 

Long  shall  it  bless  the  sacred  graves. 

Of  those  who  died,  but  were  not  slaves. 

Close  the  ranks  I Close  up  the  ranks  I 


21 


322 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  RETURN. 

^^HREE  years ! I wonder  if  she’ll  know  me  ? 

1 limp  a little,  and  I left  one  arm 
At  Petersburg ; and  I am  grown  as  brown 

As  the  plump  chestnuts  on  my  little  farm : 

And  I’m  as  shaggy  as  the  chestnut  burrs — 

But  ripe  and  sweet  within,  and  wholly  hers. 

The  darling  ! how  I long  to  see  her ! 

My  heart  outruns  this  feeble  soldier  pace, 

For  I remember,  after  I had  left, 

A little  Charlie  came  to  take  my  place. 

Ah  ! how  the  laughing,  three-year-old,  brown  eyes — 
His  mother’s  eyes — will  stare  with  pleased  surprise  1 

Surely,  they  will  be  at  the  corner  watching  ! 

I sent  them  word  that  I should  come  to-night : 

The  birds  all  know  it,  for  they  crowd  around, 

Twittering  their  welcome  with  a wild  delight ; 

And  that  old  robin,  with  a'  halting  wing — 

I saved  her  life,  three  years  ago  last  spring. 

Three  years  ! perhaps  I am  but  dreaming  ! 

For,  like  the  pilgrim  of  the  long  ago, 

I’ve  tugged,  a weary  burden  at  my  back, 

Through  summer’s  heat  and  winter’s  blinding  snow ; 
Till  now,  I reach  my  home,  my  darling’s  breast. 

There  I can  roll  my  burden  off,  and  rest. 

* * * * 

When  morning  came,  the  early  rising  sun 

Laid  his  light  lingers  on  a soldier  sleeping — 

Where  a soft  covering  of  bright  green  grass 
Over  two  mounds  was  lightly  creeping ; 

But  waked  him  not : his  was  the  rest  eternal. 

Where  the  brown  eyes  reflected  love  supernal. 


IV A SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


323 


OUR  CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

By  John  Dickson  Bkuns,  D.,  of  Cliarlestoii,  S.  C. 

^^ooD-wiLL  and  peace!  peace  and  good-will  ! ” 
The  burden  of  the  Advent  song, 

AVhat  time  the  love-charmed  waves  grew  still 
To  hearken  to  the  shining  throng; 

The  wondering  shepherds  heard  the  strain 

Who  watched  by  night  the  slumbering  fleece, 
The  deep  skies  echoed  the  refrain. 

Peace  and  good-will,  good-will  and  peace  ! ” 

And  wise  men  bailed  the  promised  sign, 

And  brought  their  birth-gifts  from  the  East, 
Dear  to  that  Mother  as  the  wine 

That  hallowed  Cana’s  bridal  feast ; 

But  what  to  these  are  myrrh  or  gold, 

And  what  Arabia’s  costliest  gem, 

Whose  eyes  the  Child  divine  behold. 

The  blessed  Babe  of  Bethlehem. 

“ Peace  and  good-will,  good-will  and  peace  ! ” 

They  sing,  the  bright  ones  overhead ; 

And  scarce  the  jubilant  anthems  cease 
Ere  Judah  wails  her  first-born  dead  ; 

And  Rama’s  wild,  despairing  cry 

Fills  with  great  dread  the  shuddering  coast. 

And  Rachel  hath  but  one  reply, 

‘‘Bring  back,  bring  back  my  loved  and  lost.” 

So,  down  two  thousand  years  of  doom 
That  cry  is  borne  on  wailing  winds, 

But  never  star  breaks  through  the  gloom 
!No  cradled  peace  the  watcher  finds ; 


324 


lV^J^  SOlVGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  still  the  ITerodian  steel  is  driven, 

And  breaking  hearts  make  ceaseless  moan, 

. And  still  the  mute  appeal  to  Heaven 

Man  answers  back  with  groan  for  groan. 

How  shall  we  keep  our  Christmas  tide  ? 

With  that  dread  past,  its  wounds  agape, 
Forever  walking  by  our  side, 

A fearful  shade,  an  awful  shape  ; 

Can  any  promise  of  the  spring 

Make  green  the  faded  autumn  leaf? 

Or  who  shall  say  that  time  will  bring 

Fair  fruit  to  him  who  sows  but  grief? 

Wild  bells ! that  shake  the  midnight  air 

With  those  dear  tones  that  custom  loves, 

You  wake  no  sounds  of  laughter  here. 

Nor  mirth  in  all  our  silent  groves ; 

On  one  broad  waste,  by  hill  or  flood. 

Of  ravaged  lands  your  music  falls. 

And  where  the  happy  homestead  stood 
The  stars  look  down  on  roofless  halls. 

At  every  board  a vacant  chair 

Fills  with  quick  tears  some  tender  eye, 
And  at  our  maddest  sports  appear 

Those  well-loved  forms  that  will  not  die. 
We  lift  the  glass,  our  hand  is  stayed — 

We  jest,  a spectre  rises  up — 

And  weeping,  though  no  word  is  said. 

We  kiss  and  pass  the  silent  cup. 

And  pledge  the  gallant  friend  who  keeps 
His  Christmas-eve  on  Malvern’s  height, 

And  him,  our  fair-haired  boy,  who  sleeps 
Beneath  Virginian  snows  to-night; 


WINNIE  DAVIS  MONUMENT  IN  “HOLLYWOOD,” 
RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA 

Erected  by  the  “Daughters  of  the  Confederacy.’’ 

From  photograph  made  for  this  work  by  Edyth  Carter  Beveridge. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


325 


While,  by  the  fire,  she,  musing,  broods 

On  all  that  was  and  might  have  been, 

If  Shiloh’s  dank  and  oozing  woods 

Had  never  drunk  that  crimson  stain. 

O happy  Yules  of  buried  years  I 

Could  ye  but  come  in  wonted  guise, 

Sweet  as  love’s  earliest  kiss  appears. 

When  looking  back  through  wistful  eyes, 
Would  seem  those  chimes  whose  voices  tell 
His  birth-night  with  melodious  burst. 

Who,  sitting  by  Samaria’s  well, 

Quenched  the  lorn  widow’s  life-long  thirst. 

Ah!  yet  I trust  that  all  who  weep. 

Somewhere,  at  last,  will  surely  find 
His  rest,  if  through  dark  ways  they  keep 

The  child-like  faith,  the  prayerful  mind : 

And  some  far  Christmas  morn  shall  bring 
From  human  ills  a sweet  release 
To  loving  hearts,  while  angels  sing 

Peace  and  good-will,  good-will  and  peace  I ” * 


CHRISTMAS. 

By  Henry  Timrod,  of  South  Carolina. 

^JJow  grace  this  hallowed  day  ? 

Shall  happy  bells,  from  yonder  ancient  spire, 
Send  their  glad  greetings  to  each  Christmas  fire 
Round  which  the  children  play  ? 

Alas  1 for  many  a moon. 

That  tongueless  tower  hat  cleaved  the  Sabbath  air, 
Mute  as  an  obelisk  of  ice  aglare 
Beneath  an  Arctic  noon. 


326 


WAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Shame  to  the  foes  that  drown 
Our  psalms  of  worship  with  their  impious  drum, 
The  sweetest  chimes  in  all  the  land  lie  dumb 
In  some  far  rustic  town. 

There,  let  us  think,  they  keep, 

Of  the  dead  Yules  which  here  beside  the  sea 
They’ve  ushered  in  with  old-world  English  glee, 
Some  echoes  in  their  sleep. 

How  shall  we  grace  the  day  ? 

With  feast  and  song,  and  dance,  and  antique  sports, 
And  shoat  of  hap])y  children  in  the  courts, 

And  tales  of  ghost  and  fay  ? 

Is  there  indeed  a door 

Where  the  old  pastimes,  with  their  lawful  noise, 
And  all  the  merry  wound  of  Christmas  joys, 

Could  enter  as  of  yore. 

Would  not  some  pallid  face 
Look  in  upon  the  banquet,  calling  up 
Dread  shapes  of  battle  in  the  wassail  cup, 

And  trouble  all  the  place? 

How  could  we  bear  the  mirth. 

While  some  loyed  reveller  of  a year  ago 
Keeps  his  mute  Christmas  now  beneath  the  snow, 
In  cold  Virginian  earth  ? 

How  shall  we  grace  the  day  ? 

Ah  ! let  the  thought  that  on  this  holy  morn 
The  Prince  of  Peace — the  Prince  of  Peace  was  born, 
Employ  us,  while  we  pray  ! 

Pray  for  the  peace  which  long 
Hath  left  this  tortured  land,  and  iiaply  now 
Holds  its  white  codrt  on  some  far  mountain’s  brow, 
There  hardly  safe  from  wrong. 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


ZTi 


Let  every  sacred  fane 
Call  its  sad  votaries  to  the  shrine  of  God, 

And,  with  the  cloister  and  the  tented  sod. 

Join  in  one  solemn  strain  ! 

With  pomp  of  Roman  form, 

With  the  grave  ritual  brought  from  England’s  shore, 
And  with  the  simple  hiith  which  asks  no  more 
Than  that  the  heart  be  warm. 

He,  who  till  time  shall  cease, 

Shall  watch  that  earth,  where  once,  not  all  in  vain. 
He  died  to  give  us  peace,  will  not  disdain 
A prayer  whose  theme  is — peace. 

Perhaps,  ere  yet  the  spring 
Hath  died  into  the  summer,  over  all 
The  land,  the  peace  of  His  vast  love  shall  fall 
Like  some  protecting  wing. 

Oh,  ponder  what  it  means  ! 

Oh,  turn  the  rapturous  thought  in  every  way  ! 

Oh,  give  the  vision  and  the  fancy  play, 

And  shape  the  coming  scenes! 

Peace  in  the  quiet  dales, 

Made  rankly  fertile  by  the  blood  of  men  ; 

Peace  in  the  woodland,  and  the  lonely  glen. 

Peace  in  the  peopled  vales  ! 

Peace  in  the  crowded  town. 

Peace'  in  a thousand  fields  of  waving  grain. 

Peace  in  the  highway  and  the  flowery  lane. 

Peace  on  the  wind-swept  down  ! 

Peace  on  the  furthest  seas. 

Peace  in  our  sheltered  bays  and  ample  streams. 

Peace  wheresoe’er  our  starry  garland  gleams. 

And  peace  in  every  breeze  ! 


328 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Peace  on  the  whirring  marts, 

Peace  where  the  scholar  thinks,  the  hunter  roams, 
Peace,  God  of  Peace  ! peace,  peace  in  all  our  homes, 
And  peace  in  all  our  hearts  ! 


CHARLESTON. 

By  Miss  E.  B.  Cheeseborough. 

pROUDLY  she  stands  by  the  crystal  sea. 

With  the  fires  of  hate  around  her. 

But  a cordon  of  love  as  strong  as  fate. 

With  adamant  links  surround  her. 

Let  them  hurl  their  bolts  through  the  azure  sky, 
And  death-bearing  missiles  send  her, 

She  finds  in  our  God  a mighty  shield. 

And  in  Heaven  a sure  defender. 

Her  past  is  a page  of  glory  bright, 

Her  present  a blaze  of  splendor, 

You  may  turn  o’er  the  leaves  of  the  je well’d  tome. 
You’ll  not  find  the  word  surrender; 

For  sooner  than  lay  down  her  trusty  arms. 

She’d  build  her  own  funeral  pyre. 

And  the  flames  that  give  her  a martyr’s  fate 
Will  kindle  her  glory  higher. 

How  the  demons  glare  as  they  see  her  stand 
In  majestic  pride  serenely, 

And  gnash  with  the  impotent  rage  of  hate. 
Creeping  up  slowly,  meanly  ; 

While  she  cries,  “ Come  forth  from  your  covered  dens. 

All  your  hireling  legions  send  me. 

I’ll  bare  my  breast  to  a million  swords. 

Whilst  God  and  my  sons  defend  me  ” 


IFA/e  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


30., 


Oh,  brave  old  town,  o’er  thy  sacred  form 
Whilst  the  fiery  rain  is  sweeping, 

May  He  whose  love  is  an  armor  strong 
Embrace  thee  in  tender  keeping ; 

And  when  the  red  war-cloud  has  rolled  away, 
Anoint  thee  with  holy  chrism, 

And  sanctified,  chastened,  regenerate,  true, 
Thou  surviv’st  this  fierce  baptism. 


. GATHERING  SONG. 

Air — “ Bonnie  Blue  Flag.” 

By  Annie  Chambers  Ketchum. 

^^OME,  brothers  ! rally  for  the  right  I 
The  bravest  of  the  brave 
Sends  forth  her  ringing  battle-cry 
Beside  the  Atlantic  wave  ! 

She  leads  the  way  in  honor’s  path  I 
Come,  brothers,  near  and  far. 

Come,  riilly  ’round  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
That  bears  a single  star ! 

We’ve  borne  the  Yankee  trickery, 
The  Yankee  gibe  and  sneer. 

Till  Yankee  insolence  and  pride 
Know  neither  shame  nor  fear  ; 
But  ready  now  with  shot  and  steel 
Their  brazen  front  to  mar. 

We  hoist  aloft  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
That  bears  a single  star! 

Now  Georgia  marches  to  the  front. 

And  close  beside  her  come 
Her  sisters  by  the  Mexique  Sea, 

With  pealing  trump  and  drum  ! 


. 330 


JVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Till,  answering  back  from  hill  and  glen 
The  rallying  cry  afar, 

A Nation  hoists  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
That  bears  a single  star  1 

By  every  stone  in  Charleston  Bay, 

By  each  beleaguered  town. 

We  swear  to  rest  not,  night  nor  day. 

But  hunt  the  tyrants  down  ! 

Till,  bathed  in  valor’s  holy  blood 
The  gazing  world  afar 

Shall  greet  with  shouts  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
That  bears  the  cross  and  star  ! 


THE  BAND  IN  THE  PINES. 

(Heard  after  Pelham  Died.) 

By  John  Esten  Cooke. 

band  in  the  pine-wood,  cease! 

Cease  with  your  splendid  call ; 

The  living  are  brave  and  noble, 

But  the  dead  were  bravest  of  all  I 

They  throng  to  the  martial  summons. 

To  the  loud,  triumphant  strain  ; 

And  the  dear  bright  eyes  of  long  dead  friends 
Come  to  the  heart  again  ! 

They  come  with  the  ringing  bugle. 

And  the  deep  drum’s  mellow  roar ; 

Till  the  soul  is  faint  with  longing 

For  the  hands  we  clasp  no  more  ! 

Oh,  band  in  the  pine-wood  cease  ! 

Or  the  heart  will  melt  in  tears, 

For  the  gallant  eyes  and  the  smiling  lips, 

And  the  voices  of  old  years  I 


WAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


331 


CAPTAIN  MAFFIT’S  BALLAD  OF  THE  SEA. 

^^jpHOUGH  winds  are  high  and  skies  are  dark, 

And  the  stars  scarce  show  us  a meteor  spark  ; 
Yet  buoyantly  bounds  our  gallant  barque, 

Through  billows  that  flash  in  a sea  of  blue ; 
We  are  coursing  free,  like  the  Viking  shark. 

And  our  prey,  like  him,  pursue  ! 

At  each  plunge  of  our  prow  we  bare  the  graves. 
Where,  heedless  of  roar  among  winds  and  waves. 
The  dead  have  slept  in  their  ocean  caves. 

Never  once  dreaming — as  if  no  more 
They  hear,  though  the  Storm-God  ramps  and  raves 
From  the  deeps  to  the  rock-bound  shore. 

Brave  sailors  were  they  in  the  ancient  times. 

Heroes  or  pirates — men  of  all  climes. 

That  had  never  an  ear  for  the  Sabbath  chimes. 
Never  once  called  on  the  priest  to  be  shriven ; 
They  died  with  the  courage  that  still  sublimes. 

And,  haply,  may  fit  for  Heaven. 

Never  once  asking  the  when  or  why. 

But  ready,  all  hours,  to  battle  and  die. 

They  went  into  fight  with  a terrible  cry, 

Counting  no  odds,  and,  victors  or  slain, 
Meeting  fortune  or  fate  with  an  equal  eye. 

Defiant  of  death  and  pain. 

Dread  are  the  tales  of  the  wondrous  deep, 

And  well  do  the  billows  their  secrets  keep. 

And  sound  should  those  savage  old  sailors  sleep. 

If  sleep  they  may  after  such  a life  ; 

Where  every  dark  passion,  alert  and  aleap. 

Made  slumber  itself  a strife-^ 


332 


JVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


What  voices  of  horror,  through  storm  and  surge, 
Sang  in  the  perishing  ear  its  dirge, 

As,  raging  and  reading,  o’er  Hell’s  black  verge, 
Each  howling  soul  sank  to  its  doom  ; 

And  what  thunder-tones  from  the  deeps  emerge, 
As  yawns  for  its  prey  the  tomb  ! 

We  plough  the  same  seas  which  the  rovers  trod, 
But  with  better  faith  in  the  saving  God, 

And  bear  aloft  and  carry  abroad 

The  starry  cross,  our  sacred  sign, 

Which,  never  yet  sullied  by  crime  or  fraud. 
Makes  light  o’er  the  midnight  brine. 

And  we  rove  not  now  on  a lawless  quest. 

With  passions  foul  in  the  hero’s  breast, 

Moved  by  no  greed  at  the  fiend’s  behest, 

Gloating  in  lust  o’er  a bloody  prey  ; 

But  from  tyrant  robber  the  spoil  to  wrest. 

And  tear  down  his  despot  sway  I 

’Gainst  the  spawn  of  Europe,  and  all  the  lands, 
British  and  German — Norway’s  sands, 

Dutchland  and  Irish — the  hireling  bands 
Bought  for  butchery — recking  no  rede. 

But,  flocking  like  vultures,  with  felon  hands. 

To  fatten  the  rage  of  greed. 

With  scath  they  traverse  both  land  and  sea. 

And  with  sacred  wrath  we  must  make  them  flee; 
Making  the  path  of  the  nations  free,^ 

And  planting  peace  in  the  heart  of  strife ; 

In  the  star  of  the  cross,  our  liberty 

Brings  light  to  the  world,  and  life  I 


CONFEDERATE  NOTE  WITH  SOLDIER’S  ENDORSEMENT  (See  Poem.) 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


333 


Let  Christendom  cower  ’neath  Stripes  and  Stars 
Cloaking  her  shame  under  legal  bars, 

Not  too  moral  for  traffic,  but  shirking  wars, 

While  tiie  Southern  cross,  floating  topmast  high, 
The  jgh  torn,  perchance,  by  a thousand  scars, 

Shall  light  up  the  midnight  sky  ! 


THE  PRIDE  OF  BATTERY  B. 

^ouTH  M ountain  towering  on  our  right, 

Far  off  the  river  lay, 

And  over  on  the  wooded  height 
We  held  their  lines  at  bay. 

At  last  the  muttering  guns  were  still, 
The  day  died  slow  and  wan  ; 
k t last  the  gunners^  pipes  did  fill, 
The  sergeant’s  yarns  began. 

When,  as  the  wind  a moment  blew 
Aside  the  fragrant  flood 
Our  brierwoods  raised,  within  our  view 
A little  maiden  stood. 

A tiny  tot  of  six  or  seven. 

From  fireside  fresh  she  seemed 
(Of  such  a little  one  in  heaven 
One  soldier  often  dreamed). 

And  as  we  stared,  her  little  hand 
Went  to  her  curly  head 
In  grave  salute.  “ And  who  are  you  ? ” 

At  length  the  sergeant  said. 


334 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  where’s  your  home  ? ” He  growled  again, 

She  lisped  out,  ‘‘  Who  is  me  ? 

Why,  don’t  you  know?  I’m  little  Jane, 

The  pride  of  Battery  B. 

“ My  home  ? Why,  that  was  burned  away, 
And  Pa  and  Ma  are  dead. 

And  so  I ride  the  guns  all  day, 

Along  with  Sergeant  Ned. 

‘‘  And  I’ve  a drum  that’s  not  a toy, 

A cap  with  feathers,  too, 

And  I march  beside  the  drummer  boy 
On  Sundays  at  review. 

But  now,  our  ’bacca’s  all  give  out. 

The  men  can’t  have  their  smoke. 

And  so  they’re  cross.  Why,  even  Ned 
Won’t  play  with  me  and  joke 'I 

And  the  big  colonel  said  to-day — 

I hate  to  hear  him  sw^ear — 

He’d  give  a leg  for  a good  pipe 
Like  the  Yank  had  over  there. 

And  so  I thought,  when  beat  the  drum, 
And  the  big  guns  were  still, 

I’d  creep  beneath  the  tent  and  come 
Down  here  across  the  hill, 

“ And  beg,  good  Master  ITankee  men, 

You  give  me  some  Lone  Jack, 

Please  do  ; when  we  get  some  again 
I’ll  surely  bring  it  back. 

Indeed ! I wdll,  for  Ned,  says  he. 

If  I do  what  I say 
I’ll  -be  a general  yet,  maybe. 

And  ride  a prancing  bay.’ 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


336 


We  brimmed  her  tiny  apron  o’er; 

You  should  have  heard  her  laugh 

And  each  man  from  his  scanty  store 
Shook  out  a generous  half ! 

To  kiss  the  little  mouth,  stooped  down 
A score  of  grimy  men, 

Until  the  sergeant’s  husky  voice 

Said,  “’Tention,  squad  1 ” and  then 

We  gave  her  escort,  till  good-night 
The  pretty  waif  we  bid, 

And  watched  her  toddle  out  ot  sight 
Or  else  ’twas  tears  that  hid 

Her  tiny  form — nor  turned  about 
A man,  not  spoke  a word. 

Till  after  awhile  a far,  hoarse  shout 
Upon  the  wind  we  heard. 

We  sent  it  back,  then  cast  sad  eyes 
Upon  the  scene  around  ; 

A baby’s  hand  had  touched  the  ties 
That  brothers  once  had  bound. 

That’s  all — save  when  the  dawn  awoke 
Again  the  work  of  he^i, 

And  through  the  sullen  clouds  of  Siiioks 
The  screaming  missiles  fell. 

Our  general  often  rubbed  his  glass 
And  marveled  much  to  see 

Not  a single  shell  that  whole  day  fell 
In  the  camp  of  Battery  B. 


X 


336 


WAR  SONGS  OF  T!7F  CONFEDERACY 


THE  DEAD  MAN  THAT  LAY  AT  MY  DOOR. 

BY  A.  L.  Moore. 

In  June,  1863,  a Kentucky  brigade  was  encamped  at  Jackson,  Miss. 
While  there  the  writer  of  the  following  lines  was  confined  with  fever  in 
whac  was  formerly  the  Dixon  House,  then  temporarily  converted  into  a 
hospital  under  the  charge  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy.  The  place  being  desti- 
tute of  the  necessary  equipments,  those  who  died  over  night  were  left  in 
the  hallway  to  await  the  morning  for  burial. 

last  through  the  casement  is  streaming 
The  soft  mellow  light  of  the  dawn. 

And  night,  with  its  visions  and  dreaming, 

Thank  Heaven  I forever  is  flown. 

Ah  ! fearful  the  night  was  to  me 

As,  noiseless,  I crept  o’er  the  floor, 

With  my  eyes  closed  fast,  lest  I see 

The  dead  man  that  lay  at  my  door. 

The  wind  o’er  the  chimney  top  sighing. 

Wailed  fitfully  out  on  the  night. 

Like  the  wail  of  some  lost  spirit  flying 
Amid  the  dread  regions  of  fright. 

It  seemed  that  all  nature,  in  sorrow. 

Did  the  fate  of  my  comrade  deplore, 

And  with  howlings  of  pity  awaited  the  morrow, 

Fc:  dead  man  that  lay  at  my  door. 

The  lamp  on  the  mantel  was  burning. 

And  fitfully  lighted  the  room  ; 

The  shadows  were  dancing  and  turning 
Like  si)ectres  that  peopled  the  gloom. 

In  vain  did  I strive  to  forget  me 

In  events  that  had  passed  long  before. 

But  the  demon  of  dread  would  not  let  me — 

The  dead  man  that  lay  at  my  door. 


. WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


337 


The  rats,  in  the  wainscot  at  work, 

Their  stores  were  moving  about, 

Whose  rattling  noise  seemed  the  knock 
Of  some  wandering  spirit  without. 

It  was  in  vain  I strove  to  withstand 
The  dread  impression  it  bore — 

That  it  came  from  the  cold,  withered  hand 
Of  the  dead  man  that  lay  at  my  door. 

Naught  but  the  deep  breathing  around 
Betrayed  that  the  living  was  near, 
And  they  in  their  slumbers  profound. 

Like  the  dead  lay  quietly  there. 

’Twas  fruitless  to  try  to  awake  them — 
Their  names  did  I call  o’er  and  o’er  : 
As  well  might  I strive  to  awaken 

The  dead  man  that  lay  at  my  door. 

I can  bear  it  no  longer  I To  see 

This  sentinel  grim  at  my  door, 

A feeling  too  potent  for  me 

To  withstand  led  me  out  on  the  floor, 

And  there,  on  his  lone,  little  bed. 

So  still,  so  calm  and  so  hoar. 

Lay  the  stark,  frozen  form  of  the  dead — 

This  dead  man  that  lay  at  my  door. 

A hand  on  my  shoulder  was  laid, 

A voice  in  my  ear,  low  and  kind. 

In  tones  of  sweet  sympathy  said  : 

“ Come,  get  thee  to  bed,  my  poor  friend 
I pointed  my  finger,  and  she. 

The  direction  her  eyes  glancing  o’er, 
Started  and  screamed,  there  to  see 

This  dead  man  that  lay  at  my  door. 


22 


338 


IVAR  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


On  my  couch  again  am  I lain, 

And  in  whispers  they  bade  me  forget 
The  visions  so  freighted  with  pain, 

Tliat  my  mind  in  its  weakness  beset. 

But  their  voices  were  husky  and  drear. 

And  wild  was  the  look  that  they  wore ; 

They,  too,  felt  a dread  and  a fear ; 

Of  the  dead  man  that  lay  at  my  door. 

But  the  sun  in  my  window  shines  warm. 

And  with  night  have  my  tears  passed  away. 
And  broken’s  the  spell  and  alarm. 

For  none  fear  the  dead  during  day. 

I have  heard  them  ! They’ve  nailed  down  the  lid. 
And  slowly  and  sadly  they  bore 
Away — off!  forever  away — 

The  dead  man  that  lay  at  my  door. 


MOONSTRUCK. 

By  Morton  Bryan  Wharton,  D.  D. 

J LOOKED  and  the  stars  like  diamonds  shone. 

Till  the  moon’s  pale  mantle  was  over  them  thrown. 
And  she  then  appeared  as  the  queen  of  the  night. 
Though  every  one  knew  that  she  borrowed  her  light. 

And  thus  in  the  lower  human  sphere, 

I have  seen  great  galaxies  disappear. 

The  geniuses  of  the  land  decline. 

And  fools  with  reflected  glory  shine. 

The  Senate  was  once  a shaft  of  light 

And  it  gilded  the  land  with  effulgence  bright, 

But  its  Websters,  Clays,  Calhouns  are  gone. 

And  political  hucksters  mount  the  throne. 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


339 


The  Church  once  gleamed  a luminous  band, 
Obedient  all,  to  the  Lord’s  command, 

But  the  good  and  pure  to  the  rear  repair, 

And  the  vile  her  holy  vestments  wear. 

The  Pulpit  once  o’er  the  nations  flamed. 

And  God’s  pure  gospel  alone  proclaimed, 

But  the  clown  and  jester  entered  in, 

And  it  lost  its  power  o’er  the  world  of  sin. 

Society,  too,  was  refined  and  pure. 

And  woman  her  modest  garments  wore. 

But  cards,  and  wine,  and  dances  gay. 

Have  banished  the  light  of  home  away. 

The  nation  itself  begins  to  fail. 

The  stars  on  its  banner  are  dead  and  pale. 
The  dream  of  the  fathers  has  faded  soon. 

And  all  for  the  light  of  the  glittering  moon  I 

O what  is  this  moon  that  with  baleful  light 
Obscureth  the  great  and  pure  from  sight. 

That  draweth  the  tides  of  life  awry. 

And  crazeth  the  souls  that  are  struck  thereby  ? 

The  answer  from  out  the  sky  is  rolled 
In  thunder  tones — it  is  gold,  gold,  gold  I ” 

A deceptive  orb,  and  of  sordid  worth. 

But  the  stars  all  fade  when  it  blazes  forth  I 

0 moon,  withdraw  thy  arrogant  face, 

O stars,  come  forth  from  your  hiding  place. 

Shine  on  till  the  glorious  god  of  day. 

Shall  banish  the  mists  of  the  land  away  I 


S40 


JVAJ?  SONGS  ON  TUN  CONFEDERACY 


THE  EIGHT  ABOVE  THE  WRONG.  ’ 

By  John  W.  Overall. 

Jn  other  days  our  fathers’  love  was  loyal,  full,  and  free. 

For  those  they  left  behind  them  in  the  Island  of  the  Sea  ; 

They  fought  the  battles  of  King  George,  and  toasted  him  in 
song, 

For  then  the  Eight  kept  proudly  down  the  tyranny  of  the 
Wrong. 

But  when  the  King’s  weak,  willing  slaves  laid  tax  upon  the  tea, 

The  Western  men  rose  up  and  braved  the  Island  of  the  Sea  ; 

And  swore  a fearful  oath  to  God,  those  men  of  iron  might. 

That  in  the  end  the  Wrong  should  die,  and  up  should  go  the 
Eight. 

The  King  sent  over  hireling  hosts — the  Briton,  Hessian,  Scot — 

And  swore  in  turn  those  Western  men,  when  captured,  should 
be  shot ; 

While  Chatham  spoke  with  earnest  tongue  against  the  hireling 
throng. 

And  mournfully  saw  the  Eight  go  down,  and  place  given  to 
the  Wrong. 

But  God  was  on  the  righteous  side,  and  Gideon’s  sword  was  out. 

With  clash  of  steel,  and  rattling  drum,  and  freeman’s  thunder- 
shout  ; 

And  crimson  torrents  drenched  the  land  through  that  long, 
stormy  fight. 

But  in  the  end,  hurrah  ! the  Wrong  was  beaten  by  the  Right ! 

And  when  again  the  foeman  came  from  out  the  Northern  Sea, 

To  desolate  our  smiling  land  and  subjugate  the  free. 

Our  fathers  rushed  to  drive  them  back,  with  rifles  keen  and 
long. 

And  swore  a mighty  oath,  the  Eight  should  subjugate  the 
W rong. 


THE  WHITE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY,  RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA 

President  Jefferson  Davis  lived  in  this  imposing:  building  during  the  war.  The  large  grounds  attached  to  the 
house  were  beautifully  laid  out  and  adorned  with  statuary,  flowers  and  fountains.  (See  description  elsewhere.) 


lVAI^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


841 


And  while  the  world  was  looking  on,  the  strife  uncertain  grew, 

But  soon  aloft  arose  our  stars  amid  a field  of  blue ; 

For  Jackson  fought  on  red  Chalmette,  and  won  the  glorious 
fight, 

And  then  the  Wrong  went  down,  hurrah  I and  triumph 
crowned  the  Right  1 

The  day  has  come  again,  when  men  who  love  the  beauteous 
South, 

To  speak,  if  needs  be,  for  the  Right,  though  by  the  cannon’s 
mouth  ; 

For  foes  accursed  of  God  and  man,  with  lying  speech  and  song, 

Would  bind,  imprison,  hang  the  Right,  and  defy  the  Wrong. 

But  canting  knave  of  pen  and  sv/ord,  nor  sanctimonious  fool. 

Shall  never  win  this  Southern  land,  to  cripple,  bind,  and  rule ; 

We’ll  muster  on  each  bloody  plain,  thick  as  the  stars  of  night. 

And,  through  the  help  of  God,  the  Wrong  shall  perish  by  the 
Right. 


CARMEN  TRIUMPH  ALE. 

By  Henry  Timrod. 
forth  and  bid  the  land  rejoice, 

Y et  not  too  gladly,  oh  my  song  ! 

Breathe  softly,  as  if  mirth  would  wrong 
The  solemn  rapture  of  thy  voice. 

Be  nothing  lightly  done  or  said 

This  happy  day  ! Our  joy  should  flow 
Accordant  with  the  lofty  woe 
That  wails  above  the  noble  dead. 

Let  him  whose  brow  and  breast  were  calm 
While  yet  the  battle  lay  with  God, 

Look  down  upon  the  crimson  sod 
And  gravely  wear  his  mournful  palm ; 


342 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  him,  whose  heart  still  weak  from  fear 
Beats  all  too  gayly  for  the  time, 

Know  that  intemperate  glee  is  crime 
While  one  dead  hero  claims  a tear. 

Yet  go  thou  forth,  my  song  I and  thrill. 

With  sober  joy,  the  troubled  days; 

A nation’s  hymn  of  grateful  praise 
May  not  be  hushed  for  private  ill. 

Our  foes  are  fallen  ! Flash,  ye  wires  I 
The  mighty  tidings  far  and  nigh  I 
Ye  cities  I write  them  on  the  sky 
In  purple  and  in  emerald  fires  I 

They  came  with  many  a haughty  boast ; 

Their  threats  were  heard  on  every  breeze  ; 
They  darkened  half  the  neighboring  seas, 
And  swooped  like  vultures  on  the  coast. 

False  recreants  on  all  knightly  strife. 

Their  way  was  wet  with  woman’s  tears ; 

Behind  them  flamed  the  toil  of  years, 

And  bloodshed  stained  the  sheaves  of  lifco 

They  fought  as  tyrants  fought,  or  slaves  ; 

God  gave  the  dastards  to  our  hands  ; 

Their  bones  are  bleaching  on  the  sands. 

Or  smouldering  slow  in  shallow  graves. 

What  though  we  hear  about  our  path 

The  heavens  with  howls  of  vengeance  rent ; 

The  venom  of  their  hate  is  spent ; 

We  need  not  heed  their  fangless  wrath. 

Meantime  the  stream  we  strove  to  chain 

Now  drinks  a thousand  springs,  and  sweeps. 
With  broadening  breast,  and  mightier  deeps, 
And  rushes  onward  to  the  main ; 


IFAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


343 


While  down  the  swelling  current  glides 
Our  ship  of  state  before  the  blast, 

With  streamers  poured  from  every  mast, 

Her  thunders  roaring  from  her  sides. 

Lord  ! bid  the  frenzied  tempest  cease. 

Hang  out  thy  rainbow  on  the  sea  ! 
Laugh  round  her,  waves  ! in  silver  glee, 
And  speed  her  to  the  ports  of  peace  ! 


ODE— OUR  CITY  BY  THE  BEAJ’ 

By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 

Charleston,  South  Carolina,  might  well  be  called  the  Rome  of  the  Early 
Confederacy,  for  from  that  little  city  went  forth  the  first  influences  that 
startled  our  great  Government  and  shocked  the  world.  She  has  ever  been 
noted  for  her  splendid  harbor,  and  is  the  Queen  City  of  the  Palmetto  State. 

city  by  the  sea. 

As  the  rebel  city  known. 

With  a soul  and  spirit  free 

As  the  waves  that  make  her  zone, 

Stands  in  wait  for  the  fate 
From  the  angry  arm  of  hate  ; 

But  she  nothing  fears  the  terror  of  his  blow  ; 

She  hath  garrisoned  her  walls, 

And  for  every  son  that  falls, 

She  will  spread  a thousand  palls 
For  the  foe  I 

Lo  1 rising  at  his  side. 

As  if  emulous  to  share 
His  old  historic  pride. 

The  vast  form  of  Sumter  there  I 
Girt  by  waves,  which 
Do  ye  quail,  as  on  yon  little  islet 
They  have  planted  the  feet  that  defile  it  ? 


344 


JVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Make  its  sands  pure  of  taint,  by  the  stroke  of  the  sword, 
And  by  torrents  of  blood  in  red  sacrifice  pour’d  ! 

Doubts  are  traitors,  if  once  they  persuade  you  to  fear. 
That  the  foe,  in  his  foothold,  is  safe  from  your  spear  ! 
When  the  foot  of  pollution  is  set  on  your  shores. 

What  sinew  and  soul  should  be  stronger  than  yours? 

By  the  fame — by  the  same — of  your  sires. 

Set  on,  though  each  freeman  expires ; 

Better  fall,  grappling  fast  with  the  foe,  to  their  graves. 
Than  groan  in  your  fetters,  the  slaves  of  your  slaves. 

The  voice  of  your  loud  exultation 

Hath  rung,  like  a trump,  through  the  nation. 

How  loudly,  how  proudly,  of  deeds  to  be  done. 

The  blood  of  the  sire  in  the  veins  of  the  son  ! 

Old  Moultrie  and  Sumter  still  keep  at  your  gates. 

And  the  foe  in  his  foothold  as  patiently  waits. 

He  asks,  with  a taunt,  by  your  patience  made  bold. 

If  the  hot  spur  of  Percy  grows  suddenly  cold — 

Makes  merry  with  boasts  of  your  city  his  own. 

And  the  Chivalry  fled,  ere  his  trumpet  is  blown  ; 

Upon  them,  0 sons  of  the  mighty  of  yore. 

And  fatten  the  sands  with  their  Sodomite  gore  ! 

Where’s  the  dastard  that  cowers  and  falters 
In  the  sight  of  his  hearthstones  and  altars  ? 

With  the  faith  of  the  free  in  the  God  of  the  brave, 

Go  forth  ; ye  are  mighty  to  conquer  and  save  1 
By  the  blue  Heaven  shining  above  ye. 

By  the  pure-hearted  thousands  that  love  ye. 

Ye  are  armed  with  a might  to  prevail  in  the  fight. 

And  an  segis  to  shield  and  a weapon  to  smite  I 
Then  fail  not,  and  quail  not ; the  foe  shall  prevail  not  ; 
With  the  faith  and  the  will,  ye  shall  conquer  him  still. 
To  the  knife — with  the  knife,  Carolinians, 

For  your  homes,  and  your  sacred  dominions. 


WAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


345 


THE  COAT  OF  FADED  GRAY. 

By  G.  W.  Harris. 

LOW  hut  rests  in  Lookout’s  shade, 

As  rots  its  moss-grown  roof  away, 
While  sundown’s  glories  softly  fade. 

Closing  another  weary  day. 

The  battle’s  din  is  heard  no  more, 

No  more  the  hunted  stand  at  bay. 

The  breezes  through  the  lowly  door 
Swing  mute  a coat  of  faded  gray, 

A tattered  relic  of  the  fray, 

A threadbare  coat  of  faded  gray. 

’Tis  hanging  on  the  rough  log  wall, 

Near  to  the  foot  of  a widow^’s  bed. 

By  a white  plume  and  well-worn  shawl — 
His  gift  the  happy  morn  they  wed ; 

By  the  wee  slip  their  dead  child  wore — 

The  one  they  gave  the  name  of  May : 
By  her  rag  doll  and  pinafore — 

By  right  ’tis  here  that  coat  of  gray 
A red-fleck’d  relic  of  the  fray. 
An  armless  coat  of  faded  gray. 

Her  all  of  life  now  drapes  that  wall  ; 

But  poor  and  patient,  still  she  waits 
On  God’s  good  time  to  gently  call 

Her,  too,  within  the  jewell’d  gates; 

And  all  she  craves  is  here  to  die — 

To  part  from  these  and  pass  away. 

To  join  her  love  eternally 

That  wore  that — the  coat  of  gray, 

The  shell-torn  relic  of  the  fray 
Her  soldier’s  coat  of  faded  gray. 


346 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


“ ’TWAS  JUST  LIKE  JIM.” 

By  L.  W.  Canady. 

just  like  Jim,  in  his  schoolboy  days, 

To  protect  the  lad  who  threw 
The  paper  wad  at  the  big  blackboard, 

On  the  wall,  with  aim  so  true ; 

’Twas  just  like  Jim  to  say,  ^‘’TwasI,” 

And  the  master’s  wrath  defy — 

To  shift  the  blame  from  a weaker  lad, 

Jim  faltered  not  at  a lie. 

’Twas  just  like  Jim,  when,  in  sixty-one. 
There  came  the  appeal  to  arms. 

And  the  pleading  voice  of  Peace  was  hushed 
By  War  and  his  rude  alarms ; 

’Twas  just  like  Jim  to  march  away — 

Tap  of  drum  and  music  gay — 
Looking  so  handsome,  so  brave  and  true, 

In  his  suit  of  homespun  gray. 

***** 

’Twas  just  like  Jim,  that  April  day,* 

When  the  broken  and  sullen  lines  of  gray 
Turned  anon  like  a stag  at  bay. 

Rallied  and  fought,  then  filed  away ; 

’Twas  just  like  Jim,  I say  ; 

To  be  the  last 

On  guard  at  the  bridge  where  his  comrades  passed.  . 
Firm  and  motionless,  gaunt  and  grim, 
iVb  surrender  for  me  ! ” said  Jim. 

Alone  he  stood,  close  by  the  bridge, 

When  Sheridan’s  troops  rode  over  the  ridge. 


* The  day  before  the  surrender  of  Leei. 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


347 


A Yankee  shout”  a “ Rebel  yell  ” 

Three  troopers  from  their  saddles  fell. 

Fewer  the  living  moments  grew 

For  Jim,  but  his  aim  was  never  more  true; 

And  when  the  foe  the  bridge  had  gained 
Not  a ball  in  his  cartridge  box  remained  ; 

But  never  a sabre  that  squadron  drew — 

They  rode  him  down,  those  lines  of  blue  I 

}{{**** 

At  Appomattox  they  called  the  roll, 

But  Jim  answered  not.  His  wayward  soul 
Had  gone  to  God,  to  be  judged  by  Him, 

No  surrender  ! Ah  ! that  was  like  Jim. 


THE  DYING  SOLDIER  BOY. 

By  a.  B.  Cunningham,  of  Louisiana. 

Air — “ Maid  of  Monterey.” 

"^JpoN  Manassa’s  bloody  plain  a soldier  boy  lay  dying ! 

The  gentle  winds  above  his  form,  in  softest  tones  were 
sighing ; 

The  god  of  day  had  slowly  sunk  beneath  the  verge  of  day. 
And  the  silver  moon  was  gliding  above  the  Milky  Way. 

The  stars  were  shining  brightly,  and  the  sky  was  calm  and 
blue  ; 

Oh ! what  a beautiful  scene  was  this  for  human  eyes  to 
view ; 

The  river  rolled  in  splendor,  and  the  wavelets  danc’d  around 
But  the  banks  were  strewed  with  dead  men,  and  gory  was  the 

ground. 


348 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  the  hero  boy  was  dying,  and  his  thoughts  were  very  deep, 
For  the  death-wound  in  his  young  side  was  wafting  him  to  sleep. 
He  thought  of  home  and  kindred  away  on  a distant  shore. 

All  of  whom  he  must  relinquish,  and  never  see  them  more. 

And  as  the  breeze  passed  by,  in  whispers  o’er  the  dead. 
Sweet  memories  of  olden  days  came  rushing  to  his  head  ; 
But  his  mind  was  weak  and  deaden’d,  so  he  turned  over 
where  he  lay. 

As  the  Death  Angel  flitted  by,  and  called  his  soul  away  I 


FIRST  CONFEDERATE  FLAG. 

The  first  flag  raised  as  an  emblem  of  confederacy  by  South  Carolina, 
the  mother  State  in  the  afterward  named  “ Confederate  States  of  America,” 
during  the  Civil  War,  was  eight  feet  long  by  six  feet  broad.  The  body  of 
it  was  turkey  red,  and  the  immense  star  and  crescent  in  the  upper  left-hand 
corner  were  of  white.  It  was  sewed  together  by  the  ladies  of  Charleston, 
S.  C.,  on  the  eve  of  that  State’s  declaration  of  secession,  December,  1860. 
and  was  hoisted  the  next  morning  over  the  Charleston  custom  house; 
Shortly  afterward,  the  “Dixie,”  a small  privateer  and  blockade  runner, 
started  on  its  depredations,  and  as  the  young  confederacy  had  as  yet 
adopted  no  official  banner,  the  Charleston  custom  house  flag  was  presented 
as  its  colors.  In  the  spring  of  1863  the  “ Dixie  ” was  captured  by  the  United 
States  steamer  “ Keystone  State.” — The  Confederate  Veteran. 


LAST  MEETING  OF  GENERALS  LEE  AND  “STONEWALL”  JACKSON 
AT  THE  BATTLE  OF  CHANCELLORSVI  LLE,  VA. 

I rom  the  original  and  celebrated  painting  by  Julio  in  the  Arsenal  of  the  Washington 
Artillery,  New  Orleans,  ba.  Size,  lo  x 12  feet.  Value,  $5,000. 


lVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


349 


“ THE  ENEMY  SHALL  NEVER  REACH  YOUR  CITY.’* 

Andrew  Jackson’s  Address  to  the  People  of  New  Orleans. 

In  the  engagement  of  Fort  Sumter  with  the  enemy’s  fleet,  April  7, 
1861,  the  spray  thrown  above  the  walls  by  their  enormous  missiles  w^as 
formed  into  a beautiful  sunbow,  seeing  which.  General  Ripley,  with  the 
piety  of  Constantine,  exclaimed  : “ /«  hoc  signo  vinces  ! ” 


EVER,  while  such  as  ye  are  in  the  breach, 


Oh  ! brothers,  sons,  and  Southrons — never  ! never  ! 
Shall  the  foul  enemy  your  city  reach  ! 

For  souls  and  hearts  are  eager  with  endeavor; 

And  God’s  own  sanction  on  your  cause,  makes  holy 
Each  arm  that  strikes  for  home,  however  lowly  ! — 

And  ye  shall  conquer  by  the  rolling  deep ! 

And  ye  shall  conquer  on  the  embattled  steep  ! — 

And  ye  shall  see  Leviathan  go  down 
A hundred  fathoms,  with  a horrible  cry 
Of  drowning  wretches,  in  their  agony — 

While  Slaughter  wades  in  gore  along  the  sands. 

And  Terror  flies  with  pleading,  outstretched  hands, 

All  speechless,  but  with  glassy-staring  eyes — 

Flying  to  Fate — and  fated  as  he  flies  ; 

That  gives  him,  when  the  shark  has  fed,  a grave  » 

Thus  saith  the  Lord  of  Battles  : ‘‘  Shall  it  be. 

That  this  great  city,  planted  by  the  sea. 

With  threescore  thousand  souls — with  fanes  and  spires 
Reared  by  a race  of  unexampled  sires — 

That  I have  watched,  now  twice  a hundred  years. 

Nursed  through  long  infancy  of  hopes  and  fears. 

Baptized  in  blood  at  seasons,  oft  in  tears; 

Purged  with  the  storm  and  Are,  and  bade  to  grow 
To  greatness,  with  a progress  Arm  but  slow — 

That  being  the  grand  condition  of  duration — 

Until  it  spreads  into  the  mighty  nation  I 


350 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  shall  the  usurper,  insolent  of  power, 

O’erwhelm  it  with  swift  ruin  in  an  hour ! 

And  hurl  his  bolts,  and  with  a dominant  will, 

Say  to  its  mighty  heart — “ Crouch,  and  be  still ! 

My  foot  is  on  your  neck  ! I am  your  Fate  ! 

Can  speak  your  doom,  and  make  you  desolate ! 

“ No  ! He  shall  know — I am  the  Lord  of  war ; 

And  all  his  mighty  hosts  but  pigmies  are  ! 

His  hellish  engines,  wrought  for  human  woe, 

His  arts  and  vile  inventions,  and  his  power. 

My  arm  shall  bring  to  ruin,  swift  and  low  ! 

Even  now  my  bolts  are  aimed,  my  storm-clouds  lower, 
And  I will  arm  my  people  with  a faith. 

Shall  make  them  free  of  fear,  and  free  of  scaith  ; 

And  they  shall  bear  from  me  a smiting  sword. 

Edged  with  keen  lightning,  at  whose  stroke  is  poured 
A torrent  of  destruction  and  swift  wrath, 

Sweeping  the  insolent  legions  from  their  path  ! 

The  usurper  shall  be  taught  that  none  shall  take 
The  right  to  punish  and  avenge  from  me ; 

And  I will  guard  my  City  by  the  Sea, 

And  save  its  people  for  their  fathers’  sake  1 ” 

Selah  ! — Oh  ! brothers,  sons,  and  Southrons,  rise ; 

To  prayer  : and  lo  ! the  wonder  in  the  skies  I 
The  sunbow  spans  your  towers,  even  while  the  foe 
Hurls  his  fell  bolt,  and  rains  his  iron  blow. 

Toss’d  by  his  shafts,  the  spray  above  yon  height 
God’s  smile  hath  turned  into  a golden  light ; 

Orange  and  purple-golden  ! In  that  sign 
Find  ye  fit  promise  for  that  voice  divine  ! 

Hark  ! ’tis  the  thunder  ! Through  the  murky  air, 

The  solemn  roll  goes  echoing  far  and  near  ! 

Go  forth,  and  unafraid  ! His  shield  is  yours  ! 

And  the  great  spirits  of  your  earlier  day — 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


351 


Your  fathers,  hovering  round  your  sacred  shores — 
Will  guard  your  bosoms  through  the  unequal  fray ! 
Hark  to  their  voices,  issuing  through  the  gloom  : 

“ The  cruel  hosts  that  haunt  you,  march  to  doom  : 
Give  them  the  vulture’s  rites — a naked  tomb ! 

And,  while  ye  bravely  smite,  with  fierce  endeavor, 
The  foe  shall  reach  your  city — never  I never  I ” 


A FAREWELL  TO  POPE. 

By  John  R.  Thompson,  of  Virginia. 

In  the  “ Reminiscences  ” introducing  this  volume  I have  said  that 
some  of  these  poems  would  be  found  a little  rugged  in  character,  so  to 
speak.  The  following  is  a case  in  point.  Let  it  be  remembered  that  it  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  strife  when  harsh  things  were  not  only  being  said,  but 
were  being  shot  from  musket  and  cannon  at  the  very  hearts  of  the  two 
opposing  sections.  It  is  all  over  now.  Let  us  read  it,  and  sympathize  with 
the  wild  spirit  of  those  times. 

^ ^ crowd,  “ Present  arms  ” in  the  line! 

Let  the  standards  all  bow,  and  the  sabres  incline — 
Roll,  drums,  the  Rogue’s  March,  while  the  conqueror  goes, 
AThose  eyes  have  seen  only  ‘‘  the  backs  of  his  foes  ” 

Through  a thicket  of  laurel,  a whirlwind  of  cheers. 

His  vanishing  form  from  our  gaze  disappears ; 

Henceforth  with  the  savage  Dacotahs  to  cope, 

Ahiit^  evasit,  erupit — John  Pope. 

He  came  out  of  the  West,  like  the  young  Lochinvar, 
Compeller  of  fate  and  controller  of  war, 

Videre  et  vincere,  simply  to  see, 

And  straightway  to  conquer  Hill,  Jackson  and  Lee  ; 

And  old  Abe  at  the  AVhite  House,  like  Kilmansegg  pere, 

With  a monkeyish  grin  and  beatified  air, 

“ Seemed  washing  his  hands  with  invisible  soap,” 

As  with  eager  attention  he  listened  to  Pope. 


i52 


IVA/?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDEkACY 


He  came,  and  the  poultry  was  swept  by  his  sword. 
Spoons,  liquors,  and  furniture  went  by  the  board ; 

He  saw — at  a distance,  the  rebels  appear, 

Pest,  pilferer,  puppy,  pretender,  poltroon ; 

And  rode  to  the  front, which  strangely  the  rear ; 
He  conquered — truth,  decency,  honor  full  soon. 

And  was  fain  from  the  scene  of  his  triumphs  to  slope, 
Sure  there  never  was  fortunate  hero  like  Pope. 

He  has  left  us  his  shining  example  to  note. 

And  Stuart  has  captured  his  uniform  coat ; 

But  His  puzzling  enough,  as  his  deeds  we  recall. 

To  tell  on  whose  shoulders  his  mantle  should  fall ; 
While  many  may  claim  to  deserve  it,  at  least. 

From  Hunter,  the  Hound,  down  to  Butler,  the  Beast, 
None  else,  we  can  say,  without  risking  the  trope. 

But  himself  can  be  parallel  ever  to  Pope. 

Like  his  namesake,  the  poet,  of  genius  and  fire. 

He  gives  new  expression  and  force  to  the  lyre  ; 

But  in  one  little  matter  they  differ,  the  two. 

And  differ,  indeed,  very  widely,  ’tis  true — 

While  his  verses  gave  great  Alexander  his  fame, 

’Tis  our  hero’s  reverses  accomplish  the  same ; 

And  fate  may  decree  that  the  end  of  a rope 
Shall  award  yet  his  highest  position  to  Pope. 


Motto  and  Emblem  of  U.  D.  C. 


WAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


353 


WAR-WAVES. 

By  Catherine  Gendron  Poyas,  of  Charleston. 

hat  are  the  war-waves  saying, 

As  they  compass  us  around  ? 

The  dark,  ensanguined  billows. 

With  their  deep  and  dirge-like  sound  ? 

Do  they  murmur  of  submission  ; 

Do  they  call  on  us  to  bow 
Our  necks  to  the  foe  triumphant 
Who  is  riding  o’er  us  now  ? 

Never  ! No  sound  submissive 

Comes  from  those  waves  sublime, 
Or  the  low,  mysterious  voices 

Attuned  to  their  solemn  chime  ! 
For  the  hearts  of  our  noble  martyrs 
Are  the  springs  of  its  rich  supply  ; 
And  those  deeply  mystic  murmurs 
Echo  their  dying  cry  ! 

They  bid  us  uplift  our  banner 
Once  more  in  the  name  of  God  ; 

And  press  to  the  goal  of  Freedom 
By  the  paths  our  Fathers  trod  : 

They  passed  o’er  their  dying  brothers ; 

From  their  pale  lips  caught  the  sigh — 

The  ^ame  of  their  hearts  heroic. 

From  the  flash  of  each  closing  eye  ! 

Up ! Up  I for  the  time  is  pressing, 

The  red  weaves  close  around  ; — 
They  will  lift  us  on  their  billows 

If  our  hearts  are  faithful  found  ! 


23 


354 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERAC\' 


They  will  lift  us  high — exultant, 

And  the  craven  world  shall  see 
The  Ark  of  a ransomed  people 
Afloat  on  the  crimson  sea  ! 

Afloat,  with  her  glorious  banner — 
The  cross  on  its  field  of  red, 

Its  stars  and  its  white  folds  waving 
In  triumph  at  her  head ; 

Emblem  of  all  that’s  sacred 
ITeralding  Faith  to  view; 

Type  of  unblemished  honor; 
Symbol  of  all  that’s  true ! 

Then  what  can  those  waves  be  singing 
But  an  anthem  grand,  sublime. 

As  they  bear  for  our  martyred  heroes 
A wail  to  the  coast  of  Time  ? 

What  else  as  they  roll  majestic 
To  the  far-off  shadowy  shore, 

To  join  the  eternal  chorus 

When  Time  shall  be  no  morel 


TO  A DEJECTED  FRIEND. 

By  Morton  Bryan  Wharton,  D.D. 

HAT  though  thy  way  is  often  dark,  . 

And  billows  loudly  round  thee  roar. 

Be  firm,  droop  not ; thy  gallant  bark 

Unharmed  shall  reach  the  destined  shore. 

There’s  much  in  life  that’s  left  thee  still ; 

The  good  outweighs  tlie  evil  here  ; 
The  less  thou  dwell’st  upon  the  ill 
The  more  will  happiness  appear. 


IV A SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


355 


For  all  there  gleams  a promise  sure ; 

Who  thinks  his  lot  in  misery  cast 
Should  patient  wait,  in  faith  endure, 

The  blessing  rich  will  come  at  last. 

And  be  not  overmuch  concerned 

When  passions  wild  thy  peace  annoy  ; 

I’ve  long  ago  this  lesson  learned, 

No  gold’s  without  its  base  alloy.” 

Should  Slander’s  voice  around  thee  ring. 

Pass  on,  stoop  not  to  make  reply ; 

Thus  pluck  the  venom  from  the  sting. 

And  leave  the  crawling  worm  to  die. 

Thy  virtues,  like  the  rock-bound  coast 

That  guards  us  from  the  treacherous  main. 
Will  dash  the  waves  by  Envy  tossed 
Back  on  the  powerless  flood  again. 


ODE— ‘‘  SHELL  THE  OLD  GITA" ! SHELL  ! ” 

By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 

^HELL  the  old  city  ! shell ! 

A"e  myrmidons  of  Hell, 

To  serve  your  master  well. 

With  hellish  arts ! 

Hurl  down,  with  bolt  and  fire, 

The  grand  old  shrines,  the  spire ; 

But  know,  your  demon  ire 
Subdues  no  hearts  ! 

There,  we  defy  ye  still. 

With  sworn  and  resolute  will ; 
Courage  ye  cannot  kill 

While  we  have  breath  ! 


366 


lFAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Stone  walls  your  bolts  may  break, 

But,  ere  our  souls  ye  shake, 

Of  the  whole  land  we’ll  make 
One  realm  of  death  I 

Dear  are  our  homes  ! our  eyes 
Weep  at  their  sacrifice  ; 

And,  with  each  bolt  that  flies, 
Each  roof  that  falls, 

The  pang  extorts  the  tear. 

That  things  so  precious,  dear 
To  memory,  love,  and  care. 

Sink  with  our  walls. 

Trophies  of  ancient  time, 

When,  with  great  souls,  sublime, 

Opposing  force  and  crime, 

Our  fathers  fought ; 

Relics  of  golden  hours. 

When,  for  our  shrines  and  bowers, 

Genius,  with  magic  powers, 

Her  triumphs  wrought ! 

Each  Sabbath-hallowed  dome, 

• Each  ancient  family  home, 

The  dear  old  southwest  room. 

All  trellised  round ; 

Where  gay,  bright  summer  vines, 
Linked  in  fantastic  twines 
With  the  sun’s  blazing  lines, 
Rubied  the  ground ! 

Homes,  sacred  to  the  past. 

Which  bore  the  hostile  blast. 

Though  Spain,  France,  Britain  cast 
Their  shot  and  shell  I 


MONUMENT  TO  THE  CONFEDERATE  DEAD,  ATLANTA,  GEORGIA 


IV^R  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


'661 


Tombs  of  the  mighty  dead, 

That  in  our  battles  bled, 

When  on  our  infant  head 
Those  furies  fell  I 

Halls  which  the  foreign  guest 
Found  of  each  charm  possessed, 
With  cheer  unstinted  blessed, 
And  noblest  grace  ; 

AYhere,  drawing  to  her  side 
The  stranger,  far  and  wide, 
Frank  courtesy  took  pride 
To  give  him  place  I 

The  shaded  walks — the  bowers 
Where,  through  long  summer  hours. 

Young  Love  first  proved  his  powers 
To  win  the  prize ; 

Where  every  tree  has  heard 
Some  vows  of  love  preferred. 

And,  with  his  leaves  unstirred. 

Watch’d  lips  and  eyes. 

Gardens  of  tropic  blooms. 

That,  through  the  shaded  rooms. 
Sent  Orient-winged  perfumes 
With  dusk  and  dawn  ; 

The  grand  old  laurel,  tall. 

As  sovereign  over  all. 

And,  from  the  porch  and  hall. 
The  verdant  lawn. 

Oh  I when  we  think  of  these 
Old  homes,  ancestral  trees ; 

Where,  in  the  sun  and  breeze. 

At  morn  and  even. 


358 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Was  to  enjoy  the  play 
Of  hearts  at  holiday, 

And  find,  in  blooms  of  May, 

Foretaste  ot  Heaven  I 

Where,  as  we  cast  our  eyes 
On  things  of  precious  prize, 
Trophies  of  good  and  wise. 
Grand,  noble,  brave  ; 
And  think  of  these,  so  late 
Sacred  to  soul  and  state, 
Doomed,  as  the  wreck  of  fate, 
By  fiend  and  slave  I 

The  inevitable  pain. 

Coursing  through  blood  and  brain. 

Drives  forth  like  winter  rain. 

The  bitter  tear ! 

We  cannot  help  but  weep. 

From  depth  of  hearts  that  keep 
The  memories,  dread  and  deep. 

To  vengeance  dear ! 

Aye,  for  each  tear  we  shed. 
There  shall  be  torrents  red. 
Not  from  the  eye -founts  fed. 
But  from  the  veins  ! 
Bloody  shall  be  the  sweat, 
Fiends,  felons,  that  shall  yet 
Pay  retribution’s  debt. 

In  torture’s  pains  I 

Oar  tears  shall  naught  abate, 

Of  what  we  owe  to  hate — 

To  the  avenging  fate  — 

To  earth  and  Heaven  ! 


IV A R SOA^GS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


359 


And,  soon  or  late,  the  hour 
Shall  bring  th’  atoning  power. 

When,  through  the  clouds  that  lower, 

The  storm-bolt’s  driven  ! 

Shell  the  old  city — shell  ! 

But,  with  each  roof-tree’s  knell. 
Vows  deep  of  vengeance  fell. 
Fire  soul  and  eye  ! 

With  every  tear  that  falls 
Above  our  stricken  walls 
Each  heart  more  fiercely  calls. 
Avenge,  or  die  ! ” 


THE  LINES  AROUND  PETERSBURG. 

By  Samuel  Davis,  of  North  Carolina. 

“ Such  a sleep  they  sleep, 

The  men  I loved  ! ” 

— Tennyson. 

silence,  silence  ! now,  when  night  is  near. 
And  I am  left  alone. 

Thou  art  so  strange,  so  sad  reposing  here — 

And  all  so  changed  hath  grown. 

Where  all  was  once  exuberant  with  life 
Through  day  and  night,  in  deep  and  deadly  strife. 

If  I must  weep,  oh,  tell  me,  is  there  not 
Some  plaintive  story  breathed  into  mine  ear 
By  spirit-whispers  from  the  voiceless  sphere. 
Haunting  this  awful  spot  ? 

To  my  sad  soul,  more  mutely  eloquent 
Than  words  of  fame  on  sculptured  monument 
Outspeaks  yon  crumbling  parapet,  where  lies 


360 


JVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  broken  gun,  the  idly  rusting  ball, 

Mute  tokens  of  an  ill-starred  enterprise  ! 

Rude  altars  reared  for  costly  sacrifice  ! 

Vast  work  of  hero-hands  left  in  thy  fall  ! 

Where  are  they  now,  that  fearless  brotherhood, 

Who  marshalled  here. 

That  fearful  year. 

In  pain  and  peril,  yet  undaunted  stood, — 

Though  Death  rode  fiercest  on  the  battle-storm 
And  earth  lay  strewn  with  many  a glorious  form  ? 

Where  are  they  now,  who,  when  the  strife  was  done, 
With  kindly  greeting  Tound  the  camp-fire  met, — 

And  made  an  hour  of  mirth,  from  triumphs  won. 

Repay  the  day’s  stern  toil,  where  the  slow  sun  had  set  ? 

Where  are  they  ? — 

Let  the  nameless  grave  declare, — 

In  strange  unwonted  hillocks — frequent  seen  ! 

Alas ! who  knows  how  much  lies  buried  there  ! — 

What  worlds  of  love,  and  all  that  might  have  been  I 

The  rest  are  scattered  now ; we  know  not  where  ; 

And  Life  to  each  a new  employment  brings ; 

But  still  they  seem  to  gather  round  me  here. 

To  whom  these  places  were  familiar  things  ! 

Wide  sundered  now,  by  mountain  and  by  stream. 

Once  brothers — still  a brotherhood  they  seem  ; — 

More  firm  united,  since  a common  woe 

Hath  brought  to  common  hopes  their  overthrow  ! 

Brave  souls  and  true ; — in  toil  and  danger  tried, — 

I see  them  still  as  in  those  glorious  years, 

When  strong,  and  battling  bravely  side  by  side, 

All  crowned  their  deeds  with  praise, — and  some  with  tears! 


lVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


361 


’Tis  done  ! the  sword  is  sheathed;  the  banner  furled, 

No  sound  where  late  the  crashing  missile  whirled — 
The  dead  alone  possess  the  battle-plain  ; 

The  living  turn  them  to  life’s  cares  again. 

Oh,  Silence  I blessed  dreams  upon  thee  wait ; 

Here  Thought  and  Feeling  ope  their  precious  store, 
And  Memory,  gathering  from  the  spoils  of  Fate 
Love’s  scattered  treasures,  brings  them  back  once  more  ! 
So  let  me  often  dream. 

As  up  the  bright’ning  stream 
Of  olden  Time,  thought  gently  leads  me  on, 
Seeking  those  better  days,  lost,  lost,  alas  ! • and  gone  ! 


^^ALL  IS  GONE.” 

Fadette. 

^ISTER,  hark  ! Atween  the  trees  cometh  naught  but  summer 
breeze  ? 

All  is  gone — - 

Summer  breezes  come  and  go.  Hope  doth  never  wander  so — 
No,  nor  evermore  doth  Woe. 

Sister,  look  ! Adown  the  lane  treadeth  only  April  rain  ? 

All  is  gone — 

Through  the  tangled  hedge-rows  green  glimmer  thus  the  sun- 
beam’s sheen. 

Dropping  from  cloud-rifts  between. 

Sister,  hark  ! the  very  air  heavy  on  my  heart  doth  bear — 

All  is  gone  1 

E’en  the  birds  that  chirped  erewhile  for  tlie  frowning  sun  to 
smile. 

Hush  at  that  drum  near  the  stile. 


362 


lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Sister,  pray  ! — it  is  the  foe  ! On  thy  knees — aye,  very  low — 
All  is  gone, 

And  the  proud  South  on  her  knees  to  a mongrel  race  like  these — 
But  the  dead  sleep  ’neath  the  trees. 

See — they  come — their  banners  flare  gayly  in  our  gloomy  air — 
All  is  gone — 

Flashed  our  Southern  Cross  all  night — naught  but  a meteoric 
light 

In  a moment  lost  to  sight? 

Aye,  so  gay — the  brave  array — marching  from  no  battle  fray — > 
All  is  gone, — 

Yet  who  vaunteth,  of  your  host,  maketh  he  but  little  boast 
If  he  thinks  on  battles  most. 

On  they  wind,  behind  the  wood.  Dost  remember  once  we  stood — 
All  is  gone — 

All  but  memory,  of  those  days — but  we’ve  stood  here  while  the 
haze 

Of  the  battle  met  the  blaze 

Of  the  sun  adown  yon  hill.  Charge  on  charge — I hear  them 
still — 

All  is  gone  I 

Yet  I hear  the  echoing  crash — see  the  sabres  gleam  and  flash — 
See  one  gallant  headlong  dash. 

One,  amid  the  battle-wreck,  restive  plunged  his  charger  black — 
All  is  gone — 

Whirrs  the  patridge  there — didst  see  where  he  rode  so  reck- 
lessly ? 

Once  he  turned  and  waved  to  me. 

“ All,”  thou  saidst,  “ the  smoke  is  dark,  scarce  can  I our  banner 
mark  ” — 

All  is  gone — 

All  but  memory ; yet  I see,  darksome  howsoe’er  it  be, 

How  to  death — to  death — rode  he. 


IVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


863 


Not  a star  he  proudly  bore,  but  a sword  all  dripping  gore — 
All  is  gone — 

Dashes  on  our  little  band  like  3"on  billow  on  the  strand — 

Ivike  3^on  strand  unmoved  they  stand. 

For  their  serried  ranks  are  strong  : thousands  upon  thousands 
throng — 

All  is  gone, 

And  the  handful,  true  and  brave,  spent,  like  ^-oiider  dying 
wave. 

Fall  back  slowly  from  that  grave. 

Low  our  banner  drooped — and  fell.  Back  he  spurs,  mid  shot 
and  shell — 

All  was  gone, 

But  he  waves  it  liigh — and  then,  on — we  sweep  them  from  the 
glen — 

But  he  ne’er  rode  back  again. 

Ah,  I smiled  to  see  him  go.  How  my  cheek  with  pride  did 
glow  ! 

All  is  gone — 

All,  of  pride  or  hope,  for  me — but  that  evening,  hopefully 

Stood  I at  the  gate  with  thee. 

Sister,  when  at  twilight  gray  marched  our  soldiers  back  this 
way— 

All  is  gone — 

In  the  woods  rang  many  a cheer — how  we  smiled  ! I did  not 
fear 

Till — at  last  was  borne  a bier. 

Sweetest  sister,  dost  thou  weep  ? Hush  ! he  only  fell  asleep — 
All  is  gone — 

And  ’twere  better  he  had  died — free,  whatever  us  betide — 

Our  galling  chains  untried. 


304 


IVA/?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


We  were  leaning  on  the  gate.  Dost  remember,  it  grew  late — 
All  is  gone — 

Yet  I see  the  stars  so  pale — see  the  shadows  down  the  vale — 
Hear  the  whip-poor-will’s  far  waii, 

As  if  all  were  in  a dream.  Through  yon  pines  the  moon  did 
gleam — 

All  is  gone — 

On  that  banner-pall  of  death — on  that  red  sword  without 
sheath — 

And  I knew  who  lay  beneath. 

Did  I speak  ? I thought  I said,  let  me  look  upon  your  dead — 
All  is  gone — 

Was  I cold  ? I did  not  weep.  Tears  are  spray  from  founts 
not  deep — 

My  heart  lies  in  frozen  sleep. 

Sister,  pray  for  me.  Thine  eyes  gleam  like  God’s  own  mid- 
night 'skies — 

All  is  gone — 

Tuneless  are  my  spirit’s  chords.  I but  look  up,  like  the  birds, 
And  trust  Christ  to  say  the  words. 


THE  FOE  AT  THE  GATES— CHARLESTON. 

By  J.  Dickson  Bruns,  M.  D. 

J^iNG  round  her ! children  of  her  glorious  skies. 

Whom  she  hath  nursed  to  stature  proud  and  great ; 
Catch  one  last  glance  from  her  imploring  eyes. 

Then  close  your  ranks  and  face  the  threat’ning  fate. 

Ring  round  her!  with  a wall  of  horrent  steel 
Confront  the  foe,  nor  mercy  ask  nor  give  ; 

And  in  her  hour  of  anguish  let  her  feel 

That  ye  can  die  whom  she  has  taught  to  live. 


LION  OF  LUCERNE,”  ATLANTA,  GEORGIA 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


365 


Ring  round  her ! swear,  by  every  lifted  blade, 

To  shield  from  wrong  the  mother  who  gave  you  birth. 
That  never  villain  hand  on  her  be  laid. 

Nor  base  foot  desecrate  her  hallowed  hearth. 

See  how  she  thrills  all  o’er  with  noble  shame. 

As  through  deep  sobs  she  draws  the  laboring  breath. 
Her  generous  brow  and  bosom  all  aflame 

At  the  bare  thought  of  insult,  worse  than  death. 

And  stained  and  rent  her  snow^y  garments  are  ; 

The  big  drops  gather  on  her  pallid  face. 

Gashed  with  great  wounds  by  cowards  who  strove  to  mar 
The  beauteous  form  that  spurned  their  foul  embrace. 

And  still  she  pleads,  oh ! how  she  pleads,  with  prayers 
And  bitter  tears,  to  every  loving  child 
To  stand  between  her  and  the  doom  she  fears. 

To  keep  her  fame  untarnished,  uiideflled ! 

Curs’d  be  the  dastard  who  shall  halt  or  doubt ! 

And  doubly  damned  who  casts  one  look  behind  1 
Ye  who  are  men  ! with  unsheathed  sword,  and  shout, 

Up  with  her  banner ! give  it  to  the  wind. 

Peal  your  wild  slogan,  echoing  far  and  wide, 

Till  every  ringing  avenue  repeat 
The  gathering  cry,  and  Ashley’s  angry  tide 

Calls  to  the  sea-waves  beating  round  her  feet. 

Sons,  to  the  rescue  ! spurred  and  belted,  come ! 

Kneeling,  with  clasp’d  hands,  she  invokes  you  now 
By  the  sweet  memories  of  your  childhood’s  home, 

‘ By  every  manly  hope  and  fllial  vow, 

To  save  her  proud  soul  from  that  loathed  thrall 
Which  yet  her  spirit  cannot  brook  to  name  ; 

Or,  if  her  fate  be  near,  and  she  must  fall. 

Spare  her — she  sues — the  agony  and  the  shame. 


366 


IV A SOA^GS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


From  all  her  fanes  let  solemn  bells  be  tolled, 

Heap  with  kind  hands  her  costly  funeral  pyre, 
And  thus,  with  paean  sung  and  anthem  rolled, 

Give  her,  unspotted,  to  the  God  of  Fire. 

Gather  around  her  sacred  ashes  then. 

Sprinkle  the  cherished  dust  with  crimson  rain. 

Die  ! as  becomes  a race  of  free-born  men. 

Who  will  not  crouch  to  wear  the  bondman’s  chain 

So,  dying,  ye  shall  win  a high  renown. 

If  not  in  life,  at  least  by  death,  set  free — 

And  send, her  fame,  through  endless  ages  down, 

The  last  grand  holocaust  of  liberty. 


BOWING  HER  HEAD. 

JJeh  head  is  bowed  downwards ; so  pensive  her  air. 

As  she  looks  on  the  ground  with  her  pale  solemn  face. 

It  were  hard  to  decide  whether  faith  or  despair, 

Whether  anguish  or  trust,  in  her  heart  holds  a place. 

Her  hair  was  all  gold  in  the  sun’s  joyous  light. 

Her  brow  was  as  smooth  as  the  soft,  placid  sea ; 

But  the  furrows  of  care  came  with  shadows  of  night. 

And  the  gold  silvered  pale  when  the  light  left  the  lea. 

Her  lips  slightly  parted,  deep  thought  in  her  eye, 

A\  liile  sorrow  cut  seams  in  her  forehead  so  fair : 

kler  bosom  heaves  gently,  she  stifles  a sigh. 

And  just  moistens  her  lid  with  the  dews  of  a tear. 

Why  droops  she  thus  earthward — why  bends  she  ? Oh,  see  ! 
There  are  gyves  on  her  limbs  ! see  her  manacled  hand  ! 

She  is  loaded  with  chains  ; but  her  spirit  is  free — 

Free  to  love  and  to  mourn  for  her  desolate  land. 


JVAJe  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


8(i7 


Her  jailer,  though  cunning,  lacks  wit  to  devise 

How  to  fetter  her  thoughts,  as  her  limbs  he  has  done  ; 
The  eagle  that’s  snatched  from  his  flight  to  the  skies. 

From  the  bars  of  his  cage  may  still  gaze  at  the  sun. 

No  sound  does  she  utter  ; all  voiceless  her  pains ; 

The  wounds  of  her  spirit  with  pride  she  conceals  ; 

She  is  dumb  to  her  shearers ; the  clank  of  her  chains 
And  the  throbs  of  her  heart  only  tell  what  she  feels. 

She  looks  sadly  around  her ; how  sombre  the  scene  ! 

How  thick  the  deep  shadows  that  darken  her  view ! 

The  black  embers  of  homes  where  the  earth  was  so  green,  • 
And  the  smokes  of  her  wreck  where  the  heavens  shone 
blue. 

Her  daughters  bereaved  of  all  succor  but  God, 

Her  bravest  sons  perished — the  light  of  her  eyes ; 

But  oppression’s  sharp  heel  does  not  cut  ’neath  the  sod. 

And  she  knows  that  the  chains  cannot  bind  in  the 
skies. 

She  thinks  of  the  vessel  she  aided  to  build, 

Of  all  argosies  richest  that  floated  the  seas  ; 

Compacted  so  strong,  framed  by  architects  skilled 

Or  to  dare  the  wild  storm,  or  to  sail  to  the  breeze . 

To  balmiest  winds  blowing  soft  where  she  steers, 

The  favor  of  Heaven'illuming  her  path — 

She  might  sail  as  she  pleased  in  the  mild  summer  airs, 

And  avoid  the  dread  regions  of  tempest  and  wrath. 

But  the  crew  quarreled  soon  o’er  the  cargo  she  bore  ; 

’Twas  adjusted  unfairly,  the  cavillers  said  ; 

And  the  anger  of  men  marred  the  peace  that  of  yore 
Spread  a broad  path  of  glory  and  sunshine  ahead. 


lVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


868 


There  were  seams  in  her  planks — ^^there  were  spots  on  her 
flag— 

So  the  fanatics  said,  as  they  seized  on  her  helm ; 

And  from  soft  summer  seas,  turned  her  prow  where  the  crag 
And  the  wild  breakers  rose  the  good  ship  to  o’erwhelm. 

Then  the  South,  though  true  love  to  the  vessel  she  bore, 

Since  she  first  laid  its  keel  in  the  days  that  were  gone — 
Saw  it  plunge  madly  on  to  the  wild  billows’  roar, 

And  rush  to  destruction  and  ruin  forlorn. 

So  she  passed  from  the  decks,  in  the  faith  of  her  heart 
That  Justice  and  God  her  protectors  would  be ; 

Not  dashed  like  a frail,  fragile  spar,  without  chart, 

In  the  fury  and  foam  of  the  wild  raging  sea. 

The  life-boat  that  hung  by  the  stout  vessel’s  side 

She  seized  and  embarked  on  the  wide,  trackless  main. 

In  the  faith  that  she’d  reach,  making  virtue  her  guide, 

The  haven  the  mother-ship  failed  to  attain. 

But  the  crew  rose  in  wrath,  and  they  swore  by  their  might 
They  would  sink  the  brave  boat  that  did  buffet  the  sea, 
For  daring  to  seek,  by  her  honor  and  right, 

A new  port  from  the  storms,  a new  home  for  the  free. 

So  they  crushed  the  brave  boat;  all  forbearance  they  lost ; 

They  littered  with  ruins  the  ocean  so  wild — 

Till  the  hulk  of  the  parent  ship,  beaten  and  tossed, 

Drifted  prone  on  the  flood  by  the  wreck  of  the  child. 

And  the  bold  rower,  loaded  with  fetters  and  chains, 

In  the  gloom  of  her  heart  sings  the  proud  vessel’s  dirge ; 
Half  forgets,  in  its  wreck,  all  the  pangs  of  her  pains. 

As  she  sees  its  stout  parts  floating  loose  in  the  surge. 

- — Savannah  Broadside, 


WAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


369 


‘‘IN  THE  LAND  WHERE  WE  WERE  DREAMING/^ 

By  D.  B.  Lucas,  Esq.,  of  Jefferson,  Virginia. 

pAiR  were  our  visions  ! Oh,  they  were  as  grand 
As  ever  floated  out  of  Faerie  land  ; 

Children  were  we  in  single  faith, 

But  God-like  children,  whom,  nor  death, 

Nor  threat,  nor  danger  drove  from  Honor’s  path. 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

Proud  were  our  men,  as  pride  of  birth  could  render ; 

As  violets,  our  women  pure  and  tender ; 

And  when  they  spoke,  their  voice  did  thrill 
Until  at  eve,  the  whip-poor-will. 

At  morn  the  mocking-bird,  were  mute  and  still 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

And  we  had  graves  that  covered  more  of  glory 
Than  ever  tracked  tradition’s  ancient  story ; 

And  in  our  dream  we  wove  the  thread 
Of  principles  for  which  had  bled 
And  suffered  long  our  own  immortal  dead 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

Though  in  our  land  we  had  both  bond  and  free, 

Both  were  content ; and  so  God  let  them  be ; 

’Till  envy  coveted  our  land 

And  those  fair  fields  our  valor  won  : 

But  little  recked  we,  for  we  still  slept  on. 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

Our  sleep  grew  troubled  and  our  dreams  grew  wild — 
Red  meteors  flashed  across  our  heaven’s  field ; 

Crimson  the  moon  ; between  the  Twins 
Barbed  arrows  fly,  and  then  begins 
Such  strife  as  when  disorder’s  Chaos  reigns, 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 


24 


370 


JVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Down  from  her  sun-lit  heights  smiled  Liberty 
And  waved  her  cap  in  sign  of  Victory — 

The  world  approved,  and  everywhere 
Except  where  growled  the  Russian  bear, 

The  good,  the  brave,  the  just  gave  us  their  prayer 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

We  fancied  that  a Government  was  ours — 

We  challenged  place  among  the  world’s  great  powers  ; 
We  talked  in  sleep  of  Rank,  Commission, 
Until  so  life-like  grew  our  vision, 

That  he  who  dared  to  doubt  met  derision 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 


We  looked  on  high  : a banner  there  was  seen. 

Whose  field  was  blanched  and  spotless  in  its  sheen — 
Chivalry’s  cross  its  Union  bears. 

And  vet’rans  swearing  by  their  scars 
Vowed  they  would  bear  it  through  a hundred  wars 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

A hero  came  amongst  us  as  we  slept ; 

At  first  he  lowly  knelt — then  rose  and  wept; 

Then  gathering  up  a thousand  spears 
He  swept  across  the  field  of  Mars  ; 

Then  bowed  farewell  and  walked  beyond  the  stars — 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

We  looked  again  : another  figure  still 
Gave  hope,  and  nerved  each  individual  will — 

Full  of  grandeur,  clothed  with  power. 
Self-poised,  erect,  he  ruled  the  hour 
With  stern,  majestic  sway — of  strength  a tower 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 


IV A SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


371 


As,  while  great  Jove,  in  bronze,  a warder  God, 

Gazed  eastward  from  the  Forum  where  he  stood, 
Rome  felt  herself  secure  and  free, 

So,  Richmond’s  safe,”  we  said,  while  we 
Beheld  a bronzed  Hero — God-like  Lee, 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

As  wakes  the  soldier  when  the  alarum  calls — 
As  wakes  the  mother  when  the  infant  falls — 

As  starts  the  traveler  when  around 
His  sleeping  couch  the  fire-bells  sound — 
So  woke  our  nation  with  a single  bound 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

Woe  ! woe  is  me  I the  startled  mother  cried — 

While  we  have  slept  our  noble  sons  have  died  ! 

Woe  ! woe  is  me  ! how  strange  and  sad. 

That  all  our  glorious  vision’s  fled 
And  left  us  nothing  real  but  the  dead 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

And  are  they  really  dead,  our  martyred  slain  ? 
No  ! dreamers  1 morn  shall  bid  them  rise  again 
From  every  vale — from  every  height 
On  which  they  seemed  to  die  for  right — 
Their  gallant  spirits  shall  renew  the  fight 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 


372 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


SAVANNAH  FALLEN 

By  Alethea  S.  Burroughs,  of  Georgia 

OWING  her  head  to  the  dust  of  the  earth, 

Smitten  and  stricken  is  she. 

Light  after  light  gone  out  from  her  hearth, 

Son  after  son  from  her  knee. 

Bowing  her  head  to  the  dust  at  her  feet, 

Weeping  her  beautiful  slain. 

Silence  ! keep  silence,  for  aye  in  the  street. 

See  ! they  are  coming  again. 

Coming  again,  oh,  glorious  ones  I 
Wrapped  in  the  flag  of  the  free! 

Queen  of  the  South  I bright  crowns  for  the  sons. 
Only  the  cypress  for  thee  ! 

Laurel,  and  banner,  and  music,  and  drum, 
Marches  and  requiems  sweet ; 

Silence  I keep  silence  1 alas,  how  they  come. 

Oh  ! how  they  move  through  the  street  I 

Slowly,  ah  ! mournfully,  slowly  they  go. 

Bearing  the  young  and  the  brave. 

Fair  as  the  summer,  but  white  as  the  snow 
Bearing  them  down  to  the  grave. 

Some  in  the  morning,  and  some  in  the  noon. 

Some  in  the  hey-day  of  life  ; 

Bower  nor  blossom,  nor  summer,  nor  June, 

Wooing  them  back  to  the  strife. 

Some  in  the  billow,  afar,  oh  ! afar. 

Staining  the  waves  with  their  blood  ; 

One  on  the  vessel’s  high  deck,  like  a star, 
Sinking  in  glory’s  bright  flood.* 


• Captain  Thomas  Pelot,  C.  S.  N , killed  at  the  capture  of  the  IVater- Witch. 


PRESIDENT  JEFFERSON  DAVIS 

From  portrait  taken  during  War  Time. 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


373 


Bowing  her  head  to  the  dust  of  the  earth, 

Humbled  but  honored  is  she, 

Lighting  the  skies  with  the  stars  from  her  hearth. 
Who  shall  her  comforter  be  ? 

Bring  her,  oh  ! bring  her  the  garments  of  woe. 
Sackcloth  and  ashes  for  aye  ; 

Winds  of  the  South  ! oh,  a requiem  blow, 
Sighing  and  sorrow  to-day. 

Sprinkle  the  showers  from  heaven’s  blue  eyes 
Wide  o’er  the  green  summer  lea, 

Rachel  is  weeping,  oh  1 Lord  of  the  skies 
Thou  shalt  her  comforter  be  ! 


BALLAD— YES,  BUILD  YOUR  WALLS.” 

ES,  build  your  ’walls  of  stone  or  sand. 

But  know,  when  all  is  budded — then. 

The  proper  breastworks  of  the  land 
Are  in  a race  of  freeborn  men  I 
The  sons  of  sires,  who  knew,  in  life. 

That,  of  all  virtues,  manhood  first. 

Still  nursing  peace,  yet  arms  for  strife. 

And  braves,  for  liberty,  tlie  worst  I 


What  grand  examples  have  been  ours  I 
Oh  ! sons  of  Moultrie,  Marion, — call 
From  mansions  of  the  past,  the  powers. 

That  plucked  ye  from  the  despot’s  thrall  1 
Do  Sumter,  Rutledge,  Gadsden,  live  ? 

Oh  1 for  your  City  by  the  Sea, 

They  gladly  gave,  what  men  could  give. 
Blood,  life,  and  toil,  and  made  it  free  I 


374 


lVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


The  grand  inheritance,  in  trust 

For  children  of  your  loins,  must  know 
No  taint  of  shame,  no  loss  by  lust. 

Your  own,  or  of  the  usurping  foe  I 
Let  not  your  sons,  in  future  days. 

The  children  now  that  bear  your  name, 
Exulting  in  a grandsire’s  praise. 

Droop  o’er  a father’s  grave  in  shame  ! 


DOFFING  THE  GRAY. 

By  Lieutenant  Falligant,  of  Savannah,  Georgia. 

with  your  gray  suits,  boys — 

. Off  with  your  rebel  gear — 

They  smack  too  much  of  the  cannon’s  peal, 
The  lightning  flash  of  your  deadly  steel. 

The  terror  of  your  spear. 

Their  color  is  like  the  smoke 

That  curled  o’er  your  battle-line  ; 

They  call  to  mind  the  yell  that  woke 
When  the  dastard  columns  before  you  broke, 

And  their  dead  were  your  fatal  sign. 

Off  with  the  starry  wreath. 

Ye  who  have  led  our  van. 

To  you  ’twas  the  pledge  of  glorious  death, 
When  we  followed  you  o’er  the  gory  heath, 

Where  we  whipped  them  man  to  man. 

Down  with  the  cross  of  stars — 

Too  long  hath  it  waved  on  high ; 

’Tis  covered  all  over  with  battle  scars, 

But  its  gleam  the  Northern  banner  mars — 

’Tis  time  to  lay  it  by. 


lVA/^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


375 


Down  \Yith  the  vows  we’ve  made, 

Down  with  each  memory — 

Down  with  the  thoughts  of  our  noble  dead — 
Down,  down  to  the  dust,  where  their  forms  are  laid 
And  down  with  Liberty. 


BULL  RUN.— A PARODY. 

It  is  said  that  in  the  hasty  retreat  from  Bull  Run  an  Irishman  out- 
stripped the  rest  on  his  way  to  Washington.  Being  met  by  an  officer,  he 
inquired  of  him  why  he  ran.  He  answered:  “Them  as  didn’t  run  are 
there  yet.” 

At  Bull  Run  when  the  sun  was  low. 

Each  Southern  face  grew  pale  as  snow, 

While  loud  as  jackdaws  rose  the  crow 
Of  Yankees  boasting  terribly  I 

But  Bull  Run  saw  another  sight, 

When  at  the  deepening  shades  of  night. 

Towards  Fairfax  Court-House  rose  the  flight 
Of  Yankees  running  rapidly. 

Then  broke  each  corps  with  terror  riven. 

Then  rushed  the  steeds  to  battle  driven, 

The  men  of  battery  Number  Seven 
Forsook  their  red  artillery  I 

Still  on  McDowell’s  farthest  left. 

The  roar  of  cannon  strikes  one  deaf. 

Where  furious  Abe  and  fiery  Jeff 
Contend  for  death  or  victory. 

The  panic  thickens — off,  ye  brave  ! 

Throw  down  your  arms  ! your  bacon  save  I 
Waive,  Washington,  all  scruples  waive. 

And  fly,  with  all  your  chivalry  ! 


376 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


TO  MY  CREWEL  WIFE. 

By  Morton  Bryan  Wharton,  D.  D. 

[These  lines  were  written  when  among  ladies  crocheting  was  all  the 
rage.  It  has  been  supplanted  by  silk  embroidery,  in  both  of  which  my 
wife  greatly  excels.] — M.  B.  W. 

J^iND  to  my  virtues  you  have  been, 

And  to  my  follies  blinded. 

But  though  you’ve  not  a cruel  heart, 

Yet  are  you  crewel-minded. 

For  better  or  for  worse,  I said. 

When  for  your  charms  I thirsted  ; 

The  better  part  you’ve  ever  proved. 

But  still  have  1 got  worsted. 

No  crotchets  in  your  heart  exist ; 

Excuse  me,  though,  for  saying. 

That  ne’er  was  woman’s  head  more  filled 
With  fanciful  crocheting. 

Your  ears  are  deaf  to  all  that’s  false. 

You  ne’er  would  truth  embellish. 

But  others’  yarns,  howe’er  retailed. 

You  welcome  with  a relish. 

’Tis  said  the  west  wind  can’t  be  chained. 

That  in  it  blows  forever, 

But  well  1 know  your  fingers  trained 

Have  caught  and  trained  the  zephyr. 

A consolation  ’tis  to  feel. 

As  down  life’s  road  we  travel. 

That  all  the  tangled  webs  I weave 
Your  fingers  can  unravel. 


IV JJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


377 


The  rainbow’s  splendid  hues  that  glow 
When  o’er  the  heavens  bended, 

Can  ne’er  in  radiant  beauty  match 
The  colors  you  have  blended, — 

Yes,  blended  in  your  eyes  and  hair. 

And  in  your  fair  complexion. 

Your  teeth  of  pearl,  your  pure  white  soul. 
That  won  my  heart’s  affection. 


WHEN  THIS  CRUEL  WAR  IS  OVER.” 

J^EAREST  one,  do  you  remember 
When  we  last  did  meet; 

When  you  told  me  how  you  loved  me 
Kneeling  at  my  feet  ? 

Oh!  how  proud  you  stood  before  me 
In  your  suit  of  gray. 

When  you  vowed  for  me  and  country 
Ne’er  to  go  astray. 

Chorus  : 

Weeping  sad  and  lonely 

Sighs  and  tears  how  vain, 

When  this  cruel  war  is  over, 

Pray  that  we  meet  again. 

When  the  summer  breeze  is  sighing 
Mournfully  along. 

Or  when  autumn  leaves  are  falling. 

Sadly  breathes  the  song. 

Oft  in  dreams  I see  you  lying 
On  the  battle  plain. 

Lonely,  wounded,  even  dying. 

Calling,  but  in  vain. — Chorus, 


878 


IVAJ?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


If  amid  the  din  of  battle 
Nobly  you  should  fall, 

Far  away  from  those  who  love  you — 

None  to  hear  your  call — 

Who  would  whisper  words  of  comfort  ? 

Who  would  soothe  your  pain  ? 

Ah,  the  many  cruel  fancies 

Ever  in  my  brain  I — Chorus, 

But  our  country  called  you,  loved  one— - 
Angels  guide  your  way  ; 

While  our  “ Southern  boys  ’’  are  fighting. 
We  can  only  pray. 

When  you  strike  for  God  and  freedom, 
Let  all  nations  see 

How  you  love  our  Southern  banner — 
Emblem  of  the  free. — Chorus, 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER. 

T ET  tyrants  and  slaves  submissively  tremble 

And  bow  down  their  necks  ’neath  the  Juggernaut  car; 
But  brave  men  will  rise  in  the  strength  of  a nation 
And  cry  Give  me  freedom,  or  else  give  me  war.’' 

Chorus  : 

Farewell,  forever  I The  Star-Spangled  Banner, 

No  longer  shall  wave  o’er  the  land  of  the  free  ! 
But  we’ll  unfurl  to  the  broad  breeze  of  heaven 

Thirteen  bright  stars  around  the  Palmetto  Tree. 

We  honor,  yes,  honor,  bold  South  Carolina  I 

Though  small  she  may  be,  she’s  as  brave  as  the  best. 
With  flagship  of  States,  she’s  out  on  the  ocean 

Buffeting  the  waves  of  a dark  billow’s  crest. — Chorus. 


V/AJd  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


379 


We  honor,  yes,  honor,  our  seceding  sisters, 

Who  launched  this  brave  bark  alone  on  the  sea ; 

Though  storms  may  howl,  and  thunder  distraction 

Wedl  hurl  to  the  blast  the  proud  Palmetto  tree. — Chorus. 

And  when  to  the  conflict  the  others  cry  “ Onward  I 
Virginia  will  be  first  to  rush  to  the  fight. 

Shefll  break  down  the  iceberg  of  Northern  coercion 

And  rise  in  her  glory  of  freedom  and  right. — Chorus. 

When  the  thirteen  sisters  in  bright  constellation 
Shall  dazzling  shine  in  a nation’s  emblem  sky, 

With  no  hands  to  oppose  nor  foes  to  oppress  them, 

They  will  shine  there  forever,  a light  to  every  eye. 

— Chorus. 


“ LET  ME  KISS  HIM  FOR  HIS  MOTHER.” 
T ET  me  kiss  him  for  his  mother, 

^ Let  me  kiss  his  dear,  youthful  brow ; 

I will  love  him  for  his  mother. 

And  seek  her  blessing  now. 

Kind  friends  have  soothed  his  pillow, 

Have  w^atched  his  every  care, 

Beneath  the  weeping  willow, 

0 lay  him  gently  there. 

Chorus; 

Sleep,  dearest,  sleep ; 

I loved  you  as  a brother, 

Kind  friends  around  you  weep ; 

I’ve  kissed  you  for  your  mother. 

Let  me  kiss  him  for  his  mother ; 

What  though  left  a lone  stranger  here  ; 

She  has  loved  him  as  none  other ; 

1 feel  her  blessing  near. 


380 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Though  cold  that  form  lies  sleeping, 

Sweet  angels  watch  around. 

Dear  friends  are  near  thee  weeping ; 

O,  lay  him  gently  down. — Chorus, 

Let  me  kiss  him  for  his  mother; 

Or,  perchance,  fond  sister  dear. 
If  a father  or  a brother, 

I know  their  blessing’s  here. 
Then  kiss  him  for  his  mother; 

’Twill  soothe  her  after  years. 
Farewell,  dear  stranger,  brother; 

Our  requiem,  our  tears. — Chorus. 


‘a  GIVE  MY  SOLDIER  BOY  A BLADE.” 
By  II.  M.  L 

J GIVE  my  soldier  boy  a blade. 

In  fair  Damascus  fashioned  well ; 
Who  first  the  glittering  falchion  swayed, 
Who  first  beneath  its  fury  fell, 

I know  not ; but  I hope  to  know, 

That,  for  no  mean  or  hireling  trade, 

To  guard  no  feeling  base  or  low — 

I give  my  soldier  boy  the  blade ! 

Cool,  calm  and  clear — the  lucid  flood 

In  which  its  tempering  work  was  done ; — 
As  calm,  as  clear,  in  wind  and  wood, 

Be  thou  where’er  it  sees  the  sun  I 
For  country’s  claim,  at  honor’s  call. 

For  outraged  friend,  insulted  maid. 

At  mercy’s  voice  to  bid  it  fall — 

I give  my  soldier  boy  the  blade  I 


THE  CAPITOL  AT  RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA 


fVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


381 


The  eye  which  marked  its  peerless  edge, 

The  hand  that  weighed  its  balanced  poise, 
Anvil  and  pincers,  forge  and  wedge, 

Are  gone,  with  all  their  flame  and  noise ; 
Yet  still  the  gleaming  sword  remains  I 
So,  when  in  dust  I low  am  laid, 
Remember,  by  these  heart-felt  strains, 

I give  my  soldier  boy  the  blade  I 


TO  HON.  JEFFERSON  DAYIS. 
By  M.  B.  Wharton. 

In  answer  to  the  follo^\ing  letter. 


/yjOL^%.^  ^-OC'L^ 


t 


^UCH  was  the  joy  thy  greeting  gave. 

High  leap’d  my  heart  beyond  control ; 
Thy  kindly  wish,  like  ocean’s  wave 
Singing  amid  the  storms  that  rave, 

Bright  o’er  my  flood  of  years  shall  roll. 
And  waft  soft  music  to  my  soul. 


382 


SOJVGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Fair  leaf  from  the  majestic  tree 

From  whence  our  Southland  glory  springs, 
Thy  letter  e’er  shall  treasured  be, — 

Pressed  in  the  book  of  memory, 

And  shrined  among  the  sacred  things. 

More  prized  than  autographs  of  kings. 

He  who  the  world’s  applause  has  won, 

Whose  fame  shall  gild  remotest  days, 

Is  thankful  for  my  service  done. 

Oh,  ’tis  as  if  the  lustrous  sun. 

That  floods  our  fields  with  kindly  rays. 

Had  thanked  some  plant  that  drank  his  rays  ! 

And  to  thy  quiet  seaside  home. 

Where  tall  magnolias  wave  their  crowns. 

And  skies  cerulean  lift  their  dome. 

With  generous  quest  thou  bidst  me  come. 

Oh,  sweet  to  tread  those  flowery  downs, 

And  catch  the  inspiring  ocean  sounds ! 

But  sweeter  far  to  see  again 

The  noble  form  that  first  I viewed 
Careering  to  Manassa’s  plain, 

’Mid  wilder  sounds  than  sweep  the  main, — 

Where  threes  stood  bare  and  bullet-hewed, 
And  skies  wept  o’er  the  battle-strewed. 

I saw  thee  oft  with  rank  and  file. 

Gazed  on  thee  in  thy  chair  of  state, 

Thy  great  Inaugural  heard,  the  while, 

Thou  stood’st  upon  the  sacred  pile 

Upreared  to  Washington  the  Great, 

And  deemed  thee  linked  with  him  in  Fate. 

Shone,  through  the  dark  and  bitter  gale. 

Thy  martial  form,  thy  eagle  eye, 

One  hand  sure  guiding  at  the  wheel 


IV Aid  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


383 


And  one  directed  to  the  steel 

That  flashed  above  the  battle’s  cry 
And  nerved  thy  hosts  to  do  or  die. 

But  Fate  thy  dauntless  spirit  mocks, 

The  hopes  of  millions  quick  are  fled  ; 

Our  ship  succumbs  to  ruthless  shocks 
And  sinks  dismantled  on  the  rocks, 

While  grim  Monroe  with  menace  dread 
Frowns  o’er  our  prisoned  chieftain’s  head. 

Brave  victors  e’er  must  generous  be 
Unto  a brave  and  fallen  foe  ; 

The  hand  that  plucked  the  sword  from  Lee 
Is  raised  to  set  the  captive  free, 

Who  ne’er  recoiled  from  martial  blow 
Nor  triumph’d  in  a brother’s  woe. 

Nor  can  the  spangled  flag  disdain 
The  star  that  flamed  at  Monterey  ; 

Its  crimson  stripe  must  speak  the  vein 
That  streamed  on  Buena  Vista’s  plain, — 
Those  memories  bright  can  ne’er  decay 
While  breezes  round  that  banner  play. 

The  world,  full  conscious  of  thy  worth, 

Kejoiced  then  at  thy  just  release. 

Untrammeled  by  a cruel  oath. 

Thou  from  thy  cell  didst  wander  forth. 

To  seek  in  quiet  walks  of  peace 
From  patriot  woes  a calm  surcease. 

Majestic  silence  sat  enthroned 

Upon  thy  great  and  lofty  brow. 

And  while  the  past  was  sore  bemoaned, 

The  conquering  Power  was  loyal  owned  ; 

The  bright  peace  Angel  sealed  the  vow — 
Defeat  grander  than  victory  now  I 


384 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


But  stars  are  never  long  concealed  ; 

The  darksome  clouds  that  hang  before, 
Soon  drifting  from  the  nightly  field, 
Unwonted  splendors  are  revealed. 

Lo  I thus  our  days  of  darkness  o’er, 
Thou  loom’st  thy  country’s  cynosure  I 


THE  LITTLE  SOLDIER. 

By  J.  L.  Molloy. 

'V^7hen  I’m  big  I’ll  be  a soldier — 

That’s  what  I’ll  be; 

Fight  for  father,  fight  for  mother. 

Over  land  and  sea  ! 

And  before  him  on  the  table 
Stood  in  bright  array 
All  his  little  wooden  soldiers. 

Ready  for  the  fray. 

Then  he  charged  his  little  cannon. 

Singing  out  in  glee. 

When  I’m  big  I’ll  be  a soldier — 

That’s  what  I will  be  ! ” 

By  the  firelight  sat  the  mother ; 

Tears  were  in  her  heart. 
Thinking  of  the  swift  time  coming 
When  they  two  must  part. 

♦ * * * * 

Soon  the  shadow  fell  between  them — 

Soon  the  years  flew  by  ; 
lie  has  left  his  little  mother — 

Left  her,  perhaps  to  die. 


IV A SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


385 


All  the  laughter  gone  forever, 

All  the  sunshine  fled  ; 

Only  little  mother  praying 
By  his  empty  bed. 

Then  there  came  a dreadful  battle, 
And  upon  the  plain 
Crept  the  little  mother,  seeking 
Some  one  ’mid  the  slain  ; 

But  she  never  found  her  darling 
In  the  white  moon  gleam, 

For  the  little  cannon  firing 

Woke  her  from  her  dream. 

All  a dream  ! He  stood  beside  her, 

Singing  out  with  glee, 

“ When  I’m  big  I’ll  be  a soldier — 

That’s  what  I will  be  I ” 


THE  COUNTERSIGN. 

^^/^LAS  ! the  rolling  hours  pass  slow — 

The  night  is  very  dark  and  still — 

And  in  the  marshes  far  below 

Is  heard  the  lonely  whippoorwill ; 

I scarce  can  see  a foot  ahead — 

My  ears  are  strained  to  catch  each  sound, 

I feel  the  dead  leaves  beneath  me  spread 

And  the  springs  bubbling  thro’  the  ground. 

Along  the  beaten  path  I pace. 

Where  white  rays  mark  my  sentry’s  track  ; 
In  formless  things  I seem  to  trace  ; 

The  foeman’s  form,  with  bended  back. 


25 


88G 


lFAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


I think  I see  him  crouching  low  ! 

I stop  and  list — I stop  and  peer — 

Until  the  neighboring  hillocks  grow 
To  groups  of  soldiers,  far  and  near. 

With  ready  piece  I wait  and  watch 
Until  my  eyes  familiar  grown- — 
Detect  each  harmless  earthen  notch, 

And  turn  ‘^guerrillas  ’’  into  stone; 
And  then  amid  the  lonely  gloom. 
Beneath  tall  magnolia  trees. 

My  silent  marches  I resume 

And  think  of  other  times  than  these. 

“ Halt ! who  goes  there  ? ” my  challenge  cry — 

It  rings  along  the  watchful  line  — 

“ Belief!’^  I hear  a voice  reply. 

“ Advance  and  give  the  countersign  ! 

With  bayonet  at  the  charge  I wait — 

The  corporal  gives  the  mystic  spell — 

' With  “arms  aport”  I charge  my  mate 
Then  onward  pass,  and  all  is  well ! 

But  in  my  tent,  that  night  awake, 

I ask,  “ if  in  the  fray  I fall. 

Can  I the  mystic  answer  make 

When  the  angelic  sentries  call  ? 

And  pray  that  Heaven  so  ordain. 

Where’er  I go,  what  fate  be  mine. 
Whether  in  pleasure  or  in  pain 

I still  may  have  the  “ countersign  I ” 


IV A SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


387 


^‘POP  GOES  THE  WEASEL.’^ 

J^iNG  Abraham  is  very  sick, 

Old  Scott  has  got  the  measles, 

Manassas  we  have  now  at  last — 

Pop  goes  the  weasel  I 

All  around  the  cobbler’s  house 
The  monkey  chased  the  people, 

And  after  them  in  double  haste 
Pop  goes  the  weasel ! 

When  the  night  walks  in  as  black  as  a sheep. 

And  the  hen  on  her  eggs  was  fast  asleep. 

When  into  her  nest  with  a serpent’s  creep 
Pop  goes  the  weasel ! 

Of  all  the  dance  that  ever  was  planned 
To  galvanize  the  heel  and  the  hand. 
There’s  none  that  moves  so  gay  and  grand 
As  pop  goes  the  weasel ! 


TO  MY  SOLDIER  BROTHER. 

By  Sallie  M.  Ballard,  of  Texas. 

hen  softly  gathering  shades  of  ev’n 

Creep  o’er  the  prairies  broad  and  green, 
And  countless  stars  bespangle  heav’n. 

And  fringe  the  clouds  with  silv’ry  sheen, 
My  fondest  sigh  to  thee  is  giv’n. 

My  lonely  wand’ring  soldier  boy  ; 

And  thoughts  of  thee 
Steal  over  me 

Like  ev’ning  shade,  my  soldier  boy. 


3S8 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


My  brother,  though  tliou’rt  far  away, 
And  dangers  hurtle  round  thy  path, 
And  battle  lightning’s  o’er  thee  play, 
And  thunders  peal  in  awful  wrath. 
Think,  whilst  thou’rt  in  the  hot  affray, 
Thy  sister  prays  for  thee,  my  boy. 

If  fondest  prayer 
Can  shield  thee  there 
Sweet  angels  guard  my  soldier  boy. 


Thy  proud  ^mung  heart  is  heating  high 
To  clash  of  arms  and  cannon’s  roar ; 
That  firm-set  lip  and  flashing  eye 

Tell  how  thy  heart  is  brimming  o’er. 
Be  free  and  live,  be  free  or  die ; 

Be  that  thy  motto  now,  my  boy  ; 

And  though  thy  name’s 
Unknown  to  fame, 

’Tis  graven  on  my  heart,  my  boy. 


THE  SOLDIER’S  AMEN. 


s a couple  of  good  soldiers  were  walking  one  day. 


Said  one  to  the  other  : “ Let’s  kneel  down  and  pray  ; 
I’ll  pray  for  the  war,  and  good  of  all  men. 

And  whatever  I pray  for,  do  you  say — Amen  ! ” 

We’ll  pray  for  the  generals  and  all  of  their  crew. 

Likewise  for  the  captains  and  lieutenants,  too ; 

^May  good  luck  and  good  fortune  them  always  attend; 

And  return  safely  home  1 ” Said  the  soldier — “ Amen  ! ” 

AVe’ll  pray  for  the  privates,  the  noblest  of  all ; 

They  do  all  the  work  and  get  no  glory  at  all ; 

May  good  luck  and  good  fortune  them  always  attend. 

And  return  crowned  with  laurels  I”  Said  the  soldier — ‘‘Amen  !’ 


THE  FIRST  BATTLE  FLAG 

Description:— Red  Ground,  Blue  Cross,  Gold  Stars,  Gold  Fringe 

In  i86i,  after  the  first  battle  of  Manassas,  the  flag  with  the  St.  Andrews  Cross  was  adopted  as  the  Battle 
Flag  of  the  Confederate  States  Army,  and  the  Misses  Carey  (Hettie  and  Constance)  made  three  and  pre- 
sented them  to  Generals  Johnston,  Van  Dorn  and  Beauregard.  The  latter’s  flag  was  sent  by  him  to  New 
Orleans,  and  upon  the  fall  of  the  city , to  Havana,  then  returned  to  New  Orleans,  and  placed  in  custody  of 
the  Washington  Artillery,  where  it  is  at  present-  The  other  two  seem  to  have  been  lost. 


IVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


389 


“ We’ll  pray  for  the  pretty  boys  who  want  themselves  wives, 
And  have  not  the  courage  to  strike  for  their  lives ; 

May  bad  luck  and  bad  fortune  them  always  attend ; 

And  go  doyvn  to  Old  Harry  . Said  the  soldier — “Amen!  ” 

“We’ll  pray  for  the  pretty  girls,  who  make  us  good  wives. 
And  always  look  at  a soldier  with  tears  in  their  eyes; 

May  good  luck  and  good  fortune  fhem  always  attend. 

And  brave  gallants  for  sweethearts  I ” Said  the  soldier — 
“ Amen  1 ” 

“ We’ll  pray  for  the  conscript,  with  frown  on  his  brow, 

To  fight  for  his  country  he  won’t  take  the  vow : 

May  bad  luck  and  bad  fortune  him  always  attend. 

And  die  with  dishonor  1 ” Said  the  soldier — “ Amen  1 


MY  WARRIOR  BOY. 

^^jpHOu  hast  gone  forth,  my  darling  one, 

To  battle  with  the  brave. 

To  strike  in  Freedom’s  sacred  cause. 

Or  win  an  early  grave; 

With  vet’rans  grim,  and  stalwart  men. 

Thy  pathway  lieth  now. 

Though  fifteen  summers  scarce  have  shed 
Their  blossoms  on  thy  brow. 

My  babe  in  years,  my  warrior  boy  ! 

Oh,  if  a mother’s  tears 
Could  call  thee  back  to  be  my  joy 
And  still  these  anxious  fears, 

• I’d  dash  the  traitor  drops  away. 

That  would  unnerve  thy  band. 
Now  raised  to  strike  in  Freedom’s  cause 
For  thy  dear  native  land. 


390 


JFAJ?  SOA^GS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


God  speed  thee  on  thy  course,  my  boy, 
Where’er  thy  pathway  lie, 

And  guard  thee  when  the  leaden  hail 
Shall  thick  around  thee  fly  ; 

But  when  our  sacred  cause  is  won, 

And  peace  again  shall  reign, 
Come  back  to  me,  my  darling  son, 

And  light  my  life  again. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DEAD. 

By  Mortox  Bryax  Wharton,  D.  D. 

HERE  are  the  men  who  at  the  call 
Of  duty  battled  for  the  right, 

Who  to  their  country  gave  their  all 
And  bore  our  banner  in  the  flght  ? 

A"e  winged  winds  that  round  them  play. 
Where  are  these  noble  men  to-day  ? 

Each  one  a soldier’s  coffin  Alls,” 

The  answer  comes  in  plaintive  moan ; 

“ They  rest  upon  a hundred  hills 

Unmarked,  unhonored  and  unknown,” 

Or  else  their  bones  uncoffined  lie 

Beneath  Virginia’s  weej^ing  sky. 

The  flow^er  of  old  Virginia’s  pride 

With  bounding  heart  sped  to  the  foe. 
And  grappling  bravely  hand  to  hand. 

For  Southern  honor  struck  the  blow, 
Resolved  to  free  their  homes  opprest 
Or  on  their  broken  sliields  to  rest. 


lVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


801 


And  there  they  fell,  perchance  hwas  meet 

(They  knew  noh-then  their  country’s  fall), 
The  stars  and  bars  their  winding-sheet, 

‘The  blood-laved  earth  their  funeral  pall, 
While  trysting  nature  o’er  their  graves 
In  vernal  beauty  blooms  and  waves. 

And  shall  they  unremembered  lie 

Save  by  the  flowers  and  grasses  wild  ? 
What  says  the  State  ? Does  she  reply, 

I care  not  for  my  soldier  child  ? 
Avaunt  the  thought ! Oh,  mother,  turn. 
And  deck  the  son’s  neglected  urn. 


Who  doubts  that  had  our  guardian  star 

Rained  fortune  on  our  struggling  band. 

The  bright  memorials  of  the  war 

Had  crowned  each  hill-top  in  the  land. 

And  angels  waked  from  Parian  bed 
Their  white  wings  o’er  the  sleepers  spread  ? 

Oh;  who  can  paint  the  pageant  bright 

When  (five-and-twenty  years  sped  by) 
Thou  pressed  again  the  historic  site 
On  yonder  Capitolian  height. 

Where  Dixie’s  flag  first  leap’d  on  high. 
Amid  the  new-born  nation’s  cry  ! 

Sun  never  graced  a scene  more  grand  ! 

Nor  wilder  shouts  could  mortals  raise. 

When  Pettus  stood  with  veteran  band 
And  scar-marked  Gordon  took  the  stand. 

Flashing  the  light  of  other  days, — 

Speaking  the  Southern  leader’s  praise  ! 


392 


WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


And  thus  t’will  be  till  time  shall  end, — 

The  world  shall  with  thy  plaudits  ring, 

Great  hist’ry  shall  thy  name  defend, 

Sculpture  its  guardian  graces  lend, 

And  future  bards  shall  joy  to  sing 
The  glories  of  our  uncrowned  king. 

“ Peace  hath  its  victories  great  as  war,’^ 

Oh,  bright  example  here  we  find  ! 

While  England  boasts  her  Trafalgar, 

We  point  with  pleasure  to  Beauvoir, 

Where  stainless  Honor  sits  enshrined 
Within  a true  and  constant  mind. 

Enjoy  then,  sire,  thy  cherished  rest 

From  care  and  strife  and  sorrow  free; 

And  when  thy  sun  shall  seek  the  west. 

Thy  Mother  take  thee  to  her  breast, 

The  music  of  the  sounding  sea 
Shall  thy  perpetual  requiem  be  ! 

Till  then,  bloom  on,  ye  roses  sweet. 

Ye  forests  waft  your  fragrant  gales. 

Sweet  birds  your  loveliest  lays  repeat. 

Join  in,  0 sea,  with  chorus  meet, — 

Oh,  Thou,  whose  mercy  never  fails. 

Spare  him  who  treads  these  smiling  vales  ! 

Yet  not  in  old  ATestminster’s  aisle. 

Where  sculptured  glory  lifts  its  charms. 

Can  there  be  viewed  a holier  pile 

Than  that  we  build  to  Southern  arms  ? 

Could  heroes  serve  a cause  more  just. 

Or  crypts  enshrine  more  sacred  dust  ? 


IVAJ^  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


393 


We’ve  waited  long  the  shaft  to  rear, 

’Tis  well  our  braves  unconscious  sleep, 

Or  eyes  that  cannot  know  a tear 

O’er  man’s  ingratitude  would  Aveep. 

Ah!  but  for  woman,  brave  and  pure. 

How  long  would  Southern  fame  endure  ? 

dhen  let  our  column  pierce  the  sky. 

Rise  tall  and  graceful  from  the  square, 
And  then  should  glorious  Freedom  die, 
Her  spirit  still  may  linger  there. 

And  sweet  communion  bold  with  those 
Who  never  quailed  before  their  foes. 


YOU  LOVE  ME.” 

By  Augustine  Signaigo. 

Y" have  told  me  that  you  love  me, 

That  you  worship  at  my  shrine ; 

That  no  purity  above  me 

Can  on  earth  be  more  divine. 

Though  the  kind  words  you  have  spoken, 

Sound  to  me  most  sweetly  strange. 

Will  your  pledges  ne’er  be  broken  ? 

Will  there  be  in  you  no  change? 

If  you  love  me  half  so  wildly — 

Half  so  madly  as  you  say. 

Listen  to  me,  darling,  mildly — 

Would  you  do  aught  I would  pray? 
If  you  would,  then  hear  the  thunder 
Of  our  country’s  cannon  speak  I 
While  by  war  she’s  rent  asunder. 

Do  not  come  my  love  to  seek. 


394 


lVAI^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


If  you  love  me,  do  not  ponder, 

Do  not  breathe  what  you  would  say, 

Do  not  look  at  me  with  wonder. 

Join  your  country  in  the  fray. 

Go  ! your  aid  and  right  hand  lend  her 
Breast  the  tyrant’s  angry  blast ; 

Be  her  own  and  my  defender — 

Strike  for  freedom  to  the  last. 

Then  I’ll  vow  to  love  none  other. 
While  you  nobly  dare  and  do  ; 
As  you’re  faithful  to  our  mother, 

So  I’ll  faithful  prove  to  you. 

But  return  not  while  the  thunder 
Lives  in  one  invading  sword  ; 
Strike  the  despot’s  hirelings  under — 
Own  no  master  but  the  Lord. 


‘‘THE  CONTRABAND.” 

(A  song  of  Mississippi  negroes  in  the  A^icksburg  campaign.) 

Among  the  most  faithful  of  all  the  Southerners  we  must  not  forget  the 
negro  slaves.  They  were  true  to  their  masters,  and  to  their  families,  and 
oftentimes  our  unprotecte<l  women  found  in  them  perfect  safety.  When 
the  war  closed,  my  father  called  up  his  slaves,  and  said  to  them,  “ You  are 
free  now ; you  can  go  wherever  you  please,  and  do  whatever  you  wish  to 
do.”  Old  Uncle  Alec,  the  foreman  of  the  plantation,  turned  to  my  father, 
and  said,  “ Marster,  you  have  always  been  good  to  me,  and  I don’t  care 
what  the  others  do,  I am  going  to  stay  with  you.”  He  returned  to  his 
cabin,  and  so  did  the  others  to  theirs.  For  years  they  remained  with  my 
father,  and  only  drifted  away  by  marriage,  and  with  changes  that  followed 
in  our  family.  I cannot  express  the  tender  love  that  is  in  my  heart  for 
those  dear,  truediearted  friends  who  never  knew  what  want  was,  and  were 
as  happy  as  children  under  my  father's  care. 

^AY,  darkies,  has  you  seed  my  massa, 

Wid  de  mustache  on  liis  face? 

He  came  along  some  time  dis  morning 
As  dough  he’d  leave  de  place. 


lVA/^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


395 


He  seed  de  smoke  away  up  de  river, 

Where  de  Lincum  gunboats  lay; 

He  took  his  hat  and  lef  bery  sudden, 

I speck  he’s  runned  away. 

Chorus  : 

Massa  run  away, 

Darkie  stay  at  home  ; 

It  must  be  now  dat  de  kingdom’s  cornin’ 
In  de  year  of  Jubilum  I 

He’s  six  feet  one  way,  four  feet  t’other, 

And  Aveighs  three  hundred  pounds ; 

His  coat’s  so  big  he  can’t  pay  the  tailor, 

And  it  won’t  go  half  around. 

He  drills  so  much  dey  call  him  cap’n, 

And  he  am  so  very  tan, 

Speck  he’ll  to  fool  dem  A^ankees 

And  pass  for  a contraban’ — Chorus, 

Dis  darky  gets  so  very  lonesome. 

In  de  cabin  on  de  lawn. 

He  moves  his  things  to  massa’s  parlor 
To  keep  ’em  while  he’s  gone. 

There’s  wine  and  cider  in  de  cellar, 

And  de  darkies  dey’ll  have  some  ; 

I speck  it  will  be  confiscated 

When  de  Lincum  soldiers  come. — Chorus, 

De  overseer  will  give  us  trouble, 

And  run  us  round  a spell  ; 

We’ll  lock  him  up  in  de  smokehouse  cellar, 

AVid  de  key  thrown  in  de  well. 

De  whip  is  lost  and  de  handcuffs  broken, 

And  massa’ll  lose  his ; ay. 

He’s  big  enough  and  old  enough 

Dan  to  gone  and  runned  away. — Chorus, 


396 


WAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


IS  THIS  A TIME  TO  DANCE? 

^^jpiiE  breath  of  evening  sweeps  the  plain, 

And  sheds  its  perfume  in  the  dell, 

But  on  its  wings  are  sounds  of  pain. 

Sad  tones  that  drown  the  echo’s  swell ; 

And  yet  we  hear  a mirthful  call. 

Fair  pleasure  smiles  with  beaming  glance. 

Gay  music  sounds  in  the  joyous  hall ; 

Oh,  God ! is  this  a time  to  dance  ? 

Sad  notes,  as  if  a spirit  sighed. 

Float  from  the  crimson  battle-plain. 

As  if  a mighty  spirit  cried 

In  awful  agony  and  pain ; 

Our  friends  we  know  there  suffering  lay. 

Our  brothers,  too,  perchance. 

And  in  reproachful  accents  say. 

Loved  ones,  is  this  a time  to  dance? 

Oh,  lift  your  festal  robes  on  high  ! 

The  human  gore  that  flows  around 
AYill  stain  their  hues  with  crimson  dye  ; 

And  louder  let  your  music  sound 
To  drown  the  dying  warrior’s  cry^! 

Let  sparkling  wine  your  joy  enhance. 

Forget  that  blood  has  tinged  its  dye, 

And  quicker  urge  the  maniac  dance. 

But  stop!  the  floor  beneath  your  feet 
Gives  back  a coffin’s  hollow  moan. 

And  every  strain  of  music  sweet, 

Wafts  forth  a dying  soldier’s  groan. 

Oh,  sisters  I who  have  brothers  dear 
Exposed  to  every  battle’s  chance, 

Brings  dark  remorse  no  forms  of  fear. 

To  fright  you  from  the  heartless  dance? 


GENERAL  ALBERT  SIDNEY  JOHNSTON  MAJOR-GENERAL  DABNEY  H.  MAURY 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


397 


Go^  fling  your  festal  robes  away ! 

Go,  don  the  mourner’s  sable  veil ! 

Go,  bow  before  your  God,  and  pray  ! 

If  yet  your  prayers  may  aught  avail. 

Go,  face  the  fearful  form  of  Death ! 

And  trembling  meet  his  chilling  glance, 
And  then,  for  once,  with  truthful  breath, 
Answer,  Is  this  a time  to  dance  ? 


ONLY  A PRIVATE. 

By  F.  W.  D. 

^^NLY  a private  ! his  jacket  of  gray 

Is  stained  by  the  smoke  and  the  dust ; 

As  Bayard  he’s  brave,  as  Rupert  he’s  gay. 

Reckless  as  Murat  in  heat  of  the  fray. 

But  in  God  is  his  only  trust ! 

Only  a private ! to  march  and  to  fight. 

Suffers  and  starve  and  be  strong ; 

With  knowledge  enough  to  know  that  the  might 

Of  justice  and  truth,  and  freedom  and  right 
In  the  end  must  crush  out  the  wrong  I 

Only  a private  1 no  ribbon  or  star 

Shall  gild  with  false  glory  his  name  ! 

No  honors  for  him  in  braid  or  in  bar, 

His  Legion  of  Honor  is  only  a scar. 

And  his  wounds  are  his  roll  of  fame ! 

Only  a private  ! one  more  hero  slain 
On  the  field  lies  silent  and  chill ! 

And  in  the  far  South  a wife  prays  in  vain — 

One  clasp  of  the  hands  she  may  ne’er  clasp  again. 
One  kiss  from  the  lips  that  are  still ! 


398 


JVAJ?  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Only  a private!  there  let  him  sleep, 

He  will  need  no  tablet  nor  stofte  ; 

For  the  mosses  and  vines  o’er  his  grave  will  creep, 
And  at  night  the  stars  through  the  clouds  will  peep 
And  watch  him  who  lies  there  alone  I 

Only  a martyr  ! who  fought  and  who  fell, 
Unknown  and  unmarked  in  the  strife; 
But  still  as  he  lies  in  his  lonely  cell, 

Angel  and  seraph  the  legend  shall  tell — 
Such  a death  is  eternal  life 


ODE—-  DO  YE  QUAIL  ? ” 

By  W.  Gilmore  Simm. 
ye  quail  but  to  hear,  Carolinians, 

The  first  foot-tramp  of  Tyranny’s  minions  ? 

Have  ye  buckled  on  armor,  and  brandished  the  spear. 
But  to  shrink  with  the  trumpet’s  first  peal  on  the  ear? 
Why  your  forts  now  embattled  on  headland  and  height. 
Your  sons  all  in  armor,  unless  for  the  fight? 

Did  ye  think  the  mere  show  of  your  guns  on  the  wall. 
And  your  shouts,  would  thesouD  of  the  heathen  appall  ? 
That  his  lusts  and  his  appetites,  greedy  as  Hell, 

Led  by  Mammon  and  Moloch,  would  sink  at  a spell ; — 
Nor  strive,  with  the  tiger’s  own  thirst,  lest  the  flesh 
Should  be  torn  from  his  jaw^s,  while  yet  bleeding  afresh. 

For  shame  ! To  the  breech,  Carolinians  ! — 

To  the  death  for  your  sacred  dominions  1 

Homes,  shrines,  and  your  cities  all  reeking  in  flame, 

Cry  aloud  to  your  souls,  in  their  sorrow  and  shame; 
Your  graybeards,  with  necks  in  the  halter — 

Your  virgins,  defiled  at  the  altar, — 

In  the  loathsome  embrace  of  the  felon  and  slave, 

Touch  loathsomer  far  than  the  worm  of  the  grave ! 


IVAJ^  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


399 


Ah  1 God  ! if  you  fail  in  this  moment  of  gloom  ! 

How  base  were  the  weakness,  how  horrid  the  doom  ! 
With  the  fiends  in  your  streets  howling  paeans, 

And  the  Beast  o’er  another  Orleans  ! 

Do  you  quail,  as  on  yon  little  islet 
They  have  planted  the  feet  that  defile  it  ? 

Make  its  sands  pure  of  taint,  by  the  stroke  of  the  sword, 
And  by  torrents  of  blood  in  red  sacrifice  pour’d  ! 

Doubts  are  traitors,  if  once  they  persuade  you  to  fear. 
That  the  foe,  in  his  foothold,  is  safe  from  your  spear  ! 
When  the  foot  of  pollution  is  set  on  your  shores, 

What  sinew  and  soul  should  be  stronger  than  yours  ? 
By  the  fame — by  the  shame — of  your  sires. 

Set  on,  though  each  freeman  expires  ; 

Better  fall,  grappling  fast  witli  the  foe,  to  their  graves. 
Than  groan  in  your  fetters,  the  slaves  of  your  slaves. 

The  voice  of  your  loud  exultation 

Hath  rung,  like  a trump,  through  the  nation. 

How  loudly,  how  proudly,  of  deeds  to  be  done. 

The  blood  of  the  sire  in  the  veins  of  the  son  ! 

Old  Moultrie  and  Sumter  still  keep  at  your  gates. 

And  the  foe  in  his  foothold  as  patiently  waits. 

He  asks,  with  a taunt,  by  your  patience  made  bold. 

If  the  hot  spur  of  Percy  grows ’suddenly  cold — 

Makes  merry  with  boasts  of  your  city  his  own. 

And  the  Chivalry  fled,  ere  his  trumpet  is  blown ; 

Upon  them,  O sons  of  the  mighty  of  yore. 

And  fatten  the  sands  with  their  Sodomite  gore ! 

Where’s  the  dastard  that  cowers  and  falters 
In  the  sight  of  his  hearthstones  and  altars  ? 

AVith  the  faith  of  the  free  in  the  God  of  the  brave. 

Go  forth ; ye  are  mighty  to  conquer  and  save  ! 

By  the  blue  heaven  shining  above  ye. 

By  the  pure-hearted  thousands  that  love  ye, 


400 


IFAJe  SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


Ye  are  armed  with  a might  to  prevail  in  the  fight, 

And  an  segis  to  shield  and  a weapon  to  smite  ! 

Then  fail  not,  and  quail  not ; the  foe  shall  prevail  not ; 
With  the  faith  and  the  will,  ye  shall  conquer  him  still. 
To  the  knife — with  the  knife,  Carolinians, 

For  your  homes,  and  your  sacred  dominions! 


GENERAL  DABNEY  H.  MAURY. 

By  Rosewell  Page. 

IIT E sleeps,  the  ‘‘  little  general  ” sleeps, 

With  all  the  great  before  him; 

Another  son  Virginia  weeps, 

Proud  that  ’twas  she  who  bore  him. 

Away  from  home,  far,  far  away. 

He  crossed  life’s  utmost  barrier; 

Subdued,  but  still  without  dismay 
He  comes,  our  gentle  warrior. 

He  fell  not,  Tw^as  his  cause  that  fell, 

Upon  the  field  of  glory. 

He  lived,  that  living  he  might  tell 
His  country’s  gallant  story. 

With  heroes  he  was  wont  to  share 
The  trial  and  the  peril ; 

With  them  to  do,  with  them  to  dare, 
With  them  shall  be  his  burial. 

Pie  rests,  the  tired  soldier  rests. 

Upon  the  field  of  battle. 

Recalling  deeds  of  dauntles  breasts 
And  scenes  of  boyish  prattle. 

He  sleeps,  the  little  general”  sleeps, 
With  all  the  great  before  him  ; 

Virginia  now  her  vigil  keeps. 

Proud  that  ’twas  she  who  bore  him 


WAI?  SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


401 


THE  SOUTHERN  SOLDIER  BOY. 

By  Father  Ryan. 

ouNG  as  the  youngest  who  donned  the  gray, 
True  as  the  truest  who  wore  it, 

Brave  as  the  bravest  he  marched  away, 

(Hot  tears  on  the  cheeks  of  his  mother  lay) ; 
Triumphant  waved  our  flag  one  day, 

He  fell  in  front  before  it. 

Chorus. 

A grave  in  the  wood  with  the  grass  oY::  grown, 

A grave  in  the  heart  of  his  mother, 

His  clay  in  the  one  lifeless  and  lone. 

But  his  memory  lives  in  the  other. 

Firm  as  the  firmest  where  duty  led. 

He  hurried  without  a falter ; 

Bold  as  the  boldest  he  fought  and  bled. 

And  the  day  was  won  but  the  field  was  red ; 

And  the  blood  of  his  fresh  young  heart  was  shed, 

On  his  country’s  hallowed  altar. — Chorus. 

On  the  trampled  breast  of  the  battle  plain. 

Where  the  foremost  ranks  had  wrestled. 

The  fairest  form  ’mid  all  the  slain 
Like  a child  asleep  he  nestled. 

In  the  solemn  of  the  woods  that  swept 

The  field  wdiere  his  comrades  found  him, 

They  buried  him  there,  and  strong  men  wept. 

As  in  silence  they  gathered  ’round  him. — Chorus. 


26 


402 


SONGS  ON  THE  CONFEDERACY 


THE  CONQUERED  BANNER. 

Bv  Father  Abram  J.  Ryan,  the  Poet  Priest  of  the  South. 


Perhaps  the  most  gifted  of  a!l  the  Southern  poets  during  the  War  of  the 
Confederacy  was  Father  Abram  J.  Ryan:  of  New  Orleans,  and  one  of  his 
very  best  poems  is  “The  Conquered  Banner.’^  It  not  only  does  credit  to 
the  author,  but  is  a splendid  tribute  to  the  Flag  which  went  down  at  last 
all  covered  -with  glory. 


URL  that  banner  I for  ’tis  weary, 


^ Round  its  staff  Tis  drooping  dreary; 
Furl  it,  fold  it,  it  is  best : 

For  there’s  not  a man  to  wave  it, 

And  there’s  not  a sword  to  save  it, 

And  there’s  not  one  left  to  lave  it. 

In  the  blood  which  heroes  gave  it. 

And  its  foes  now  scorn  and  brave  it, 

Furl  it,  hide  it,  let  it  rest. 


Take  that  banner  down  I His  tattered. 
Broken  is  its  staff  and  shattered. 


And  the  valiant  hosts  are  scattered 


Over  whom  it  floated  high. 

Oh  I ’tis  hard  for  us  to  fold  it, 

Hard  to  think  there’s  none  to  hold  it. 
Hard  that  those  who  once  unrolled  it 
Now  must  furl  it  with  a sigh. 


Furl  that  banner  I Furl  it  sadly — 
Once  ten  thousands  hailed  it  gladly. 
And  ten  thousands  wildly,  madly. 
Swore  it  should  forever  wave ; 
Swore  that  foeman’s  sword  could  never 
Hearts  like  theirs  entwdned  dissever 
Till  that  flag  would  float  forever 

O’er  their  freedom  or  their  grave. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


403 


Furl  it  I for  the  hands  that  grasped  itf 
And  the  hearts  that  fondly  clasped  it, 
Cold  and  dead  are  lying  low. 

And  the  banner,  it  is  trailing, 

While  around  it  sounds  the  wailing 
Of  its  people  in  their  woe. 

For,  though  conquered,  they  adore  it, 
Love  the  cold,  dead  hands  that  bore  it, 
Weep  for  those  who  fell  before  it. 
Pardon  those  who  trailed  and  tore  it, 
And — oh  ! wildly  they  deplore  it — 
Now  to  furl  and  fold  it  so. 


Furl  that  banner  I true,  his  gory. 

Yet  his  wreathed  around  with  glory. 

And  hwill  live  in  song  and  story. 

Though  its  folds  are  in  the  dust ; 
For  its  fame  on  brightest  pages, 

Penned  by  poets  and  by  sages, 

Shall  go  sounding  down  the  ages. 

Furl  its  folds  though  now  we  must. 
Furl  that  banner  I softly,  slowly. 

Treat  it  gently — it  is  holy — ■ 

For  it  droops  above  the  dead  ; 
Touch  it  not,  unfold  it  never, 

Let  it  drape  there, forever. 

For  its  people’s  Aopes  are  dead. 


404 


IVAR  SONGS  OF  TFIE  CONFEDERACY 


A REPLY  TO  THE  CONQUERED  BANNER. 

By  Sir  Henry  Houghton,  Bart.,  England. 

It  will  be  seen  by  this  that  the  sympathy  of  people  of  other  lands,  and 
especially  our  Mother  Country,  was  not  altogether  on  one  side.  To  this 
day  great  respect  is  shown  those  who  fought  on  the  Southern  side,  and  far 
more  of  consideration  expressed  now  that  we  have  gone  so  far  away  from 
the  prejudice  and  passion  of  those  days.  Eecently,  while  in  London,  I 
had  the  privilege  of  being  the  guest  of  Lord  Kinnaird,  a man  as  well  dis- 
tinguished for  his  Christianity  as  for  his  splendid  success  in  business  life. 
Another  gentleman  present,  speaking  of  the  war,  turned  to  me  and  said, 
“Give  me  the  history  of  that  war  ; ’’  to  which  I replied  that  it  might  be 
, done  in  one  sentence  : “ The  people  of  New  England  brought  slaves  from 
Africa,  and  traded  them  to  us  in  the  South  for  molasses,  and  sugar  and 
cotton,  and  then  came  and  fought  us  and  took  them  away  from  us.”  This 
seemed  to  satisfy  my  questioner,  and  I hope  it  will  not  be  denied  or 
severely  criticised  by  my  reader.  Amen. 

^^ALLANT  nation,  foiled  by  numbers ! 

Say  not  that  your  hopes  are  fled ; 

Keep  that  glorious  flag  which  slumbers, 

One  day  to  avenge  your  dead. 

Keep  it,  widowed,  son  less  mothers  I 
Keep  it,  sisters,  mourning  brothers  I 
Furl  it  with  an  iron  will ; 

Furl  it  now  but  keep  it  still — 

1 hink  not  that  its  work  is  done. 

Keep  it  till  your  children  take  it. 

Once  again  to  hall  and  make  it. 

All  their  sires  have  bled  and  fought  for ; 

All  their  noble  hearts  have  sought  for — 

Bled  and  fought  for  all  alone. 

All  alone  I ay,  shame  the  story  I 

Millions  here  deplore  the  stain; 

Shame,  alas  I for  England’s  glory, 

Freedom  called,  and  called  in  vain  I 
Furl  that  banner  sadly,  slowly, 

Treat  it  gently,  for  Tis  holy ; 

Till  that  day — yes,  furl  it  sadly ; 

Then  once  more  unfurl  it  gladly — 

Conquered  banner  1 keep  it  still  I 


THE 

ROLL  OF  CONFEDERATE  STATES 

THE  DISTINGUISHED  MEN  AND 
EVENTS  OF  FOUR  YEARS 


SOUTH  CAROLINA* 

Seceded  December  20,  1860 

Bombardment  of  Fort  Sumter,  April  12-14,  1861.  En- 
gagement between  United  States  Monitors  and  Sullivan’s 
Island  Batteries,  November  16,  1863.  Battle  of  Port  Eo3^al, 
November  7,  1861.  Repulse  of  the  Federal  Iron-Clad  Squad- 
ron in  Charleston  Harbor,  April  7,  1863.  Capture  and  Burn- 
ing of  Columbia,  February  15,  1865. 

MISSISSIPPI* 

Seceded  January  9,  1861. 

Siege  of  Corinth,  April  29  to  June  10,  1862.  Siege  of 
Vicksburg,  May  18  to  July  4,  1863.  Surrender  of  Vicks- 
burg, July  4,  1863.  Attack  on  Union  gunboats  near  Green- 
wood, May  27,  1863.  Engagement  of  the  Confederate  Ram, 
“ Arkansas,”  June,  1862,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  naval  fights 
on  record. 


FLORIDA. 

Seceded  January  10,  1861. 

February  20,  1865,  Battle  of  Fort  Myers.  Battle  of 
Fort  Taylor^  August  21,  1864.  General  E.  Kirby  Smith,  born 
in  St.  Augustine,  May  16,  1824.  Total  number  of  engage- 
ments during  the  war,  32.  General  James  McIntosh,  killed 
at  Battle  of  Pen  Ridge,  Arkansas,  March  7,  1862.  November 
10,  1876,  Florida  redeemed  from  carpet-bag  rule.  Florida, 
the  first  State  to  make  Mr.  Davis’  birthday  a legal  holiday, 
June  3,  1893. 


405 


406 


THE  ROLL  OF  CONFEDERATE  STATES 


ALABAMA. 

Seceded  January  11,  1861. 

The  election  of  President  Jefferson  Davis  and  Vice- 
President  A.  H.  Stephens,  February  9,  and  their  inauguration, 
February  18,  1861.  Forrest’s  pursuit  and  capture  of  Colonel 
A.  D.  Streight,  May  3,  1863.  Evacuation  of  Mobile,  by 
General  D.  II.  Maury,  April  12,  1865.  Battle  of  Mobile  Bay, 
August  5,  1864. 


GEORGIA* 

Seceded  January  19,  1861. 

Lieutenant-General  Leonidas  Polk,  killed  at  Battle  of 
Pine  Mountain,  June  14,  1864.  Battle  of  Chickamauga,  Sep- 
tember 19-20,  1863.  Siege  of  Atlanta,  July  28  to  September 
2,  1864.  May  10,  1865,  Jefferson  Davis  captured.  Naval 
Attack  on  Forts  Posedew  and  Beaulieu,  Vernon  River,  Decem- 
ber 14-21,  1864. 


LOUISIANA* 

Seceded  January  26,  1861. 

Siege  of  Port  Hudson,  May  12  to  July  9,  1863.  New 
Orleans  Captured,  April  25,  1862.  General  Beauregard  born 
near  New  Orleans,  May  28,  1818.  Total  number  of  engage- 
ments during  the  war,  118.  Bombardment  of  Fort  Barrancas, 
January  1,  1862. 


TEXAS* 

Seceded  February  1,  1861. 

United  States  Senators  expelled  from  the  Senate,  July  11, 
1861.  Capture  of  Steamer  ‘‘Harriet  Lane,”  January  1,  1863. 
Last  action  of  war  at  Palmetto  Ranch,  near  Brownsville,  May 
13,  1865.  Repulse  of  Franklin’s  expedition,  Sabine  Pass, 
September  7, 1863.  General  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  of  Texas, 
killed  April  6,  1862,  at  Battle  of  Shiloh,  Tenn. 


THE  ROLL  OF  CONFEDERATE  STATES 


407 


VIRGINIA* 

Seceded  April  17,  1861 

Capitol  moved  from  Montgomery,  Alabama,  to  Richmond, 
May  6,  1861.  General  J.  E.  B.  Stuart  wounded  at  Yellow 
Tavern,  May  12,  1864.  General  R.  E.  Lee,  born  January  19, 
1807.  General  R.  E.  Lee,  died  October  12,  1870,  at  Lexing- 
ton, Va.  April  9,  1865,  Lee  surrenders  at  Appomattox 
Courthouse.  ‘‘Stonewall’’  Jackson  died  May  10,  1863. 

ARKANSAS* 

Seceded  May  6,  1861. 

United  States  Senators  expelled  from  the  Senate,  July  11, 
1861.  Engagement  with  United  States  Steamer  “Curlew,” 
May  25,  1864.  General  James  McIntosh  killed  at  the  Battle 
of  Pea  Ridge,  March  7,  1862.  General  Benjamin  McCulloch 
killed  at  Pea  Ridge,  March  7,  1862.  Engagement  at  St. 
Charles,  between  the  Confederate  forces  and  Federal  gunboats, 
June  17,  1862.  Engagement  at  Helena,  August  11-14, 1862. 

NORTH  CAROLINA* 

Seceded  May  20,  1861. 

General  Leonidas  Polk,  born  in  Raleigh,  April  10,  1806. 
Bombardment  by  naval  fleet  off  Fort  Fisher,  December  25, 
1864.  Battle  of  New  Berne,  March  14,  1862.  Siege  of  Fort 
Macon,  March  23  to  April  26,  1862.  Surrender  of  the  Con- 
federate army  in  North  Carolina,  at  Bennett’s  House,  near 
Durham  Station,  April  26,  1865. 

TENNESSEE* 

Seceded  June  24,  1861. 

General  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  killed  April  6,  1862,  at 
Battle  of  Shiloh.  February  14-15,  1862,  Fort  Donelson 
taken.  Naval  engagement  at  Memphis,  June  6,  1862  ; the 
city  was  then  occupied  by  the  Federals.  Battle  of  Missionary 


408 


THE  ROLL  OF  CONFEDERATE  STATES 


Ridge,  November  23-25,  1863.  Second  Battle  of  Fort  Donel- 
son,  February  8,  1863.  Forrest’s  Raid  into  Mempliis,  August 
20.  1864.  Battle  of  Lookout  Mountain,  November  24,  1863. 
Battle  of  Murfreesboro,  December  31,  1862,  General  N.  B. 
Forrest,  born  July  13,  1821,  in  Bedford  County.  General 
N.  B.  Forrest,  died  October  29,  1877,  in  Memphis.  Total 
Number  of  engagements  in  State,  298.  Sam  Davis,  noted 
Confederate  scout,  hanged  by  United  States  troops,  November 
27,  1863. 

MISSOURI* 

Seceded  October  31,  1861. 

Meeting  of  the  State  Convention,  February  28,  1861. 
Surrender  of  Camp  Jackson,  May  10,  1861.  Battle  of  Boon- 
ville,  June  16,  1861.  Battle  of  Carthage,  July  5,  1861.  Bat- 
tle of  Lexington,  September  13-20,  1861.  Battle  of  Franklin, 
November  30,  1864. 

KENTUCKY* 

Seceded  November  20,  1861. 

General  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  born  February  3,  1803. 
Jefferson  Davis,  President  of  the  Confederacy,  born  in  Chris- 
tian County,  June  3,  1808.  General  John  C.  Breckinridge, 
born  January  21,  1821,  at  Lexington.  Battles  of  Lebanon, 
July  12,  1862,  July  5,  1863,  and  July  30,  1864.  Battles  of 
Lexington,  October  17,  1862,  July  28,  1863,  and  June  10, 
1864.  General  John  Bell  Hood,  born  at  Owingsville,  June 
20;  183L 


NOTES  ON  THE  ILLUSTRATIONS 


'^JEFFERSON  DAVIS  AND  HIS  CABINET^' 

This  rare  picture  is  reproduced  in  this  work  from  an  engrav- 
ing in  the  possession  of  Mrs.  James  T.  Halsey,  the  President  of 
the  Philadelphia  Branch  of  the  Daughters  of  the  Confederacy,” 
through  whose  courtesy  the  use  of  the  picture  is  permitted.  In 
speaking  of  it  she  says  : 

“ It  is  believed  that  the  engraving  in  my  possession, 

Davis  and  His  Cabinet,’  is  the  only  one  in  existence,  the  plate  from 
which  this  picture  was  taken  having  been  ordered  to  be  destroyed 
by  the  Northern  Government  during  the  war.  Some  months  ago 
I talked  with  Mrs.  Jefferson  Davis  regarding  the  picture.  She 
told  me  that  when  Mr.  Davis  was  captured  and  taken  a prisoner 
to  Fortress  Monroe,  she  took  from  its  frame  this  picture,  carefully 
rolled  it,  and  placed  it  in  her  trunk.  Some  time  afterwards,  when 
allowed  access  to  her  trunks,  she  found  that  the  picture  had  been 
stolen.  This  picture,  now  in  my  possession,  Mrs.  Davis  believes, 
in  all  probability,  is  hers,  and  the  appearance  of  the  picture,  both 
in  creases  and  evident  age,  bears  out  this  story.” 

'"MUTE  MEMENTOES  OF  THE  RAVAGES  OF  WAR'^ 

These  Goblets,  and  Candlestick,  are  the  property  of  Mrs. 
James  T.  Halsey,  President  of  the  Philadelphia  Branch  of  the 
” Daughters  of  the  Confederacy.”  Through  her  courtesy  to  the 
author,  the  photograph  was  taken,  and  has  been  reproduced  for 
this  work.  Speaking  of  the  objects  in  the  picture,  she  says  : 

” During  Sherman’s  march,  in  one  of  the  many  churches 
burned,  or  desecrated,  by  his  soldiers,  was  a church  in  Georgia. 
After  the  soldiers  had  left,  an  old  negro  and  his  wife  found  these 
Goblets  battered  and  broken.  They  buried  thern,  and  feared  to 
reveal  their  hiding  place.  Some  years  ago,  they  came  to  Phila- 
delphia to  live,  and  brought  their  treasures  and  sold  them  to  a 
Collector  of  Antiques,  from  whom  I bought  them.  On  one  is  a 
picture  of  Mount  Vernon  and  Washington’s  Tomb  ; on  the  other, 

409 


410 


NOTES  ON  THE  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Monticelio  and  Jefferson’s  Old  Mill.  The  Brass  Candlestick  was 
given  me  by  a Confederate  Soldier.  It  was  picked  tip  on  the 
battlefield  near  the  “Bloody  Angle”  not  far  from  Fredericksburg, 
Virginia,  where  it  had  been  used  in  looking  for  the  dead  and 
caring  for  the  wounded.” 

''THE  BURIAL  OF  LATANE'' 

This  beautiful  picture  is  a reproduction  of  an  engraving  now 
in  the  possession  of  Mrs.  James  T.  Halsey,  of  Philadelphia, 
through  whose  courtesy  it  has  been  reproduced  for  this  work. 
The  picture  is  not  a common  one,  but  presents,  in  a most  vivid 
way,  the  pathetic  story  of  the  soldier  boy  who  was  buried  by 
stranger  hands.  The  interesting  poem  describing  this  scene  will 
be  found  in  another  part  of  this  work. 

"A  MEMORIAL  OF  MARYLAND  VALOR" 

The  monument  in  Baltimore  to  Maryland  soldiers  and  sailors 
who  fought  for  the  Confederacy  was  unveiled  May  2,  1903,  with 
impressive  ceremonies.  This  memorial  of  Confederate  valor  is  the 
tribute  of  the  Maryland  Daughters  of  the  Confederacy  to  the  brave 
men  from  this  State  who,  from  a sense  of  patriotic  duty,  as  they 
understood  their  duty,  upheld  the  cause  of  the  South  in  the  war 
between  the  States.  Thirty-eight  years  have  passed  since  the  end 
of  that  mighty  conflict.  The  issues  which  were  submitted  to  the 
arbitrament  of  the  sword  have  been  settled  finally.  The  South 
has  loyally  accepted  the  verdict,  and  sectional  bitterness  is  now 
almost  entirely  a thing  of  the  past.  The  Maryland  soldiers  and 
sailors  in  the  Confederate  service  distinguished  themselves  by 
courage  and  devotion.  They  upheld  the  best  traditions  of  the 
State,  and  were  worthy  in  every  way  of  the  beautiful  memorial 
which  the  Daughters  of  the  Confederacy  have  reared  in  their 
honor.  The  sculptor  embodies  in  this  memorial  an  admirable 
idea,  namely,  that  “ the  South  had  as  good  a right  as  the  North 
to  be  proud  of  the  valor,  fidelity  and  patience  of  its  soldiers,  and 
that  the  day  would  come  when  the  nation  as  a whole  would  re- 
gard the  heroic  deeds  done  by  both  the  Blue  and  the  Gray  as  a 
national  heritage.  ” That  day  has  already  come,  as  far  as  broad- 
minded-men are  concerned.  — The  Baltimore  Sun. 


NOTES  ON  THE  ILLUSTRATIONS 


411 


*^THE  CAPITOL  AT  RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA 

No  point  in  Richmond  is  more  interesting  than  the  beautiful 
Capitol  Square,  on  whose  grounds  are  the  State  Capitol,  new  State 
Library  Building,  Governor’s  Mansion,  Old  Bell  Tower,  the  eques- 
trian statue  of  Washington,  and  the  statues  of  Clay  and  “ Stone- 
wall ” Jackson.  Tame  squirrels  frolic  in  the  trees  and  on  the 
grass  in  this  Square,  and  come  to  the  visitor  in  perfect  fearless- 
ness. The  railing  enclosing  the  Square  is  of  wrought  iron,  repre- 
senting Roman  spears. 

Mr.  Jefferson  chose  the  model  for  the  new  Capitol  when  in 
Paris,  in  1785,  selecting  an  ancient  Roman  temple,  the  Maison 
Caree,  at  Nismes,  France.  Its  cornerstone  was  laid  August  18, 
1785,  and  the  Legislature  met  in  it  October  19,  1789,  the  anniver- 
sary of  Cornwallis’  surrender  at  Yorktown,  eight  years  previously. 
This  grand  old  edibce  is  filled  with  memories  and  relics  of  the 
past.  Here  met  the  Convention  of  1788,  and  the  resolutions  of 
1798-99,  by  James  Madison,  truly  interpreted  the  Federal  com- 
pact. The  Convention  of  1829-30,  including  Madison,  Monroe, 
Marshall,  and  John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  sat  here,  and  the 
Universal  Suffrage  Convention  of  1851,  and  the  Secession  Con- 
vention of  1861  also  met  here. 

The  Congress  of  the  Confederate  States  came  here  in  1862 
from  Montgomery,  Alabama,  and  sat  until  the  day  in  April,  1865, 
when  Lee  was  turned  back  at  Petersburg,  and  “ all  was  lost  save 
honor.” 


^'THE  WHITE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY^' 

President  Jefferson  Davis,  of  the  late  Confederate  States  of 
America,  lived  in  the  imposing  building  at  Clay  and  Twelfth 
Streets  during  the  war.  The  large  grounds  attached  to  the  house 
were  beautifully  laid  out  and  adorned  with  statuary,  flowers  and 
fountains. 

Mr.  Davis,  to  whom  it  had  been  presented  by  the  city  of  Rich- 
mond on  the  removal  of  the  seat  of  government  here  from  Mont- 
gomery, Alabama,  would  only  occupy  it  on  the  condition  of  its  re- 
mainingthe  property  of  the  city.  After  Richmond’s  evacuation,  it 
was  taken  by  the  Federal  troops  for  use  as  a residence  and  headquar- 
ters for  the  military  commanders  of  Virginia  until  the  army  was 


412 


NOTES  ON  THE  ILLUSTRATIONS 


withdrawn,  and  the  State’s  representation  in  the  Union  restored  ; 
the  city  then  received  it  back,  and  it  was  vised  a long  time  as  a 
public  school.  Lately  it  has  been  renovated  and  restored  to  its 
former  condition,  to  be  henceforth  devoted  to  the  purposes  of  a 
Confederate  Museum,  without  any  material  change  from  its 
appearance  during  its  occupancy  by  President  Davis. 

MONUMENT  TO  THE  CONFEDERATE  DEAD  IN  HOLLYWOOD 
CEMETERY,  RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA 

A beautiful  spot  naturally,  and  made  more  beautiful  by  care- 
ful attention,  is  Hollywood  Cemetery,  in  the  western  part  of  the 
city.  “Hollywood,”  as  it  is  generally  called,  was  laid  off  in 
1848,  and  dedicated  June  26,  1849,  the  first  interment,  however, 
being  made  in  July,  1848.  More  than  one  hundred  acres  in 
extent,  it  is  shaded  with  trees  of  original  forest  growth  ; and  by 
the  hills  and  valleys,  with  the  streams  that  ripple  through  them, 
we  are  brought  to  feel  that  here,  indeed,  nature  makes  beautiful 
even  the  sad  surroundings  of  the  dead. 

In  the  Soldiers’. Section  there  lie  20,000  of  Confederate  dead 
waiting  the  last  trump,  and  to  their  memory  there  has  been  erected 
by  the  efibrts  of  Virginia’s  noble  women,  a monument  of  rough 
Virginia  granite,  nearly  one  hundred  feet  tall,  in  the  shape  of  a 
pyramid,  covered  with  Virginia  creeper  and  ivy.  There  are 
appropriate  inscriptions  on  it,  and  once  a year,  in  May,  on 
“ Memorial  Day,”  the  graves  of  the  soldiers  are  covered  with 
flowers  by  loving  hands. 

ALABAMA  STATE  CAPITOL,  MONTGOMERY 

Montgomery  is  rightly  called  the  “Cradle  of  the  Con- 
federacy.” Here  was  enacted  the  stirring  scenes  which  cul- 
minated in  the  formation  of  the  Southern  Confederacy.  In  the 
Capitol  assembled  the  Convention,  January  7,  1861,  of  which 
Mr.  Yancey  was  Chairman,  when  the  ordinance  of  secession  was 
passed  by  a vote  of  61  to  39.  In  this  building  Jefferson  Davis 
was  inaugurated  as  the  President  of  the  Southern  Confederacy, 
February  8,  1861,  when  Mr.  Yancey  uttered  the  famous  words, 
“ The  Man  and  the  Hour  Have  Met.” 

Note. — There  are  96  pages  given  to  illustrations  in  this  volume  which  are  not  incliuled  in 
this  folio  MUMibov.  T >-^y  make  a total  of  508  pages. 


1kin&  Mor&s  of  approval  anP  EnOorocment 

SelecteC)  trom  tbe  flnanit) 

IRecelveP  from  ComraOes  anO  frienOe 


Letter  from  GENERAL  STEPHEN  D.  LEE 
Commander-in-Chief  of  United  Confederate  Veterans. 


Commanding  General’s  Office, 

Columbus,  Miss.,  Feb.  4,  1904. 


Rev.  H.  M.  Wharton,  D.D., 

My  Dear  Comrade : 

I desire  to  commend  your  effort  of  saving  to  us,  and  to 
generations  yet  to  come,  those  old  poems  and  war  songs  of  the 
Confederacy,  and  that  you  will  bring  out  a handsome  book,  pub- 
lished in  the  best  style,  for  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  South, 
and  also  of  the  North.  I wish  you  God  speed  and  success  in  your 
effort. 

With  kind  wishes, 


From  H.  H.  CABANISS, 

The  Well-known  Editor  of  The  Augusta  Chronicle. 


Augusta,  Ga.,  Feb.  2,  1904. 

Dear  Doctor  : 

Yours  of  the  27th  of  Feb.  at  hand. 

■ I congratulate  you  on  the  practical  completion  of  your  patriotic 
work,  and  trust  that  it  will  meet  with  a generous  reception,  not 
only  ill  the  South,  but  in  the  (late)  “ enemy’s  country. 


You  are  to  be  highl}^  commended  for  your  labor  of  love  in 
reproducing  enduringly  the  dear  old  songs  of  the  Confederacy, 
some  of  which  may  otherwise  have  perished.  It  was  noble  in  the 
men  and  women  who  wrote  them,  but  not  less  is  the  man  who 
preserves  them  entitled  to  honor.  I remain. 

Your  sincere  friend, 


Letter  from  GENERAL  CLEMENT  A.  EVANS, 

The  Distinguished  Commander  who  Succeeded  the  Lamented 
Stonewall  Jackson.  General  Evans  is  Himself  an  Author 
of  Distinction. 


Atlanta,  Ga.,  Jan.  29,  1904. 

My  Dear  Doctor  : 

Your  efforts  to  give  to  our  Countrymen  now  living,  and  to 
those  hereafter  born,  a permanent  book  of  War  Songs  and  Poems 
of  the  Confederacy  excites  my  own  interest  in  a high  degree,  and 
not  mine  only  but  that  of  all  who  have  taken  thought  of  the 
immense  value  for  all  time  such  a collection  will  be.  Productions 
of  that  kind  brought  into  being  during  an  era  of  intense  feeling, 
and  during  the  period  following  the  last  Confederate  throes,  will 
illustrate  the  times  of  the  great  struggle. 

I earnestly  trust  3^011  will  have  all  the  assistance  you  require 
to  enable  you  to  compile  your  work  in  a completeness  not  hereto- 
fore attained.  I will  gladly  comply  with  your  request,  and  wish 
you  abundant  success. 


Autograpn  Letter  from  GENERAL  FITZHUGH  LEE 
I n wh  ich  he  says 


I am  glad  to  learn  from  your  letter  that  you  contemplate,  and 
are  preparing,  a work  on  Confederate  War  Songs.  The  trials  and 
troubles,  the  sorrows  and  sufferings  of  the  Southern  soldier  from 
1 86 1 to  1865  were  great,  and  so  was  his  splendid  courage  on  many 
hard-fought  fields.  It  is  well  to  recall  those  heroic  days  in  song 
and  story,  “ lest  we  forget,  lest  we  forget.” 


^ . J - /7 


From  the  Honorable  W.  S.  JENNINGS, 
Governor  of  Florida. 


State:  of  Florida. 

Exkcutivf  Department. 

Taeeahasskk,  January  30,  1904. 

My  Dear  Doctor  Wharton  : 

I have  just  learned  with  the  keenest  pleasure  that  you  are 
about  to  publish  a compilation  of  the  poems  and  war  songs  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy.  In  my  mind,  this  is  an  undertaking  for 
which  there  is  a real  necessity  and  demand,  and  which  is  entered 
upon  none  too  soon.  There  can  scarcely  be  a doubt  that  your 
work  will  commend  itself  strongly  to  the  reading  public,  and 
throughout  the  Sunny  South  it  should  receive  a general  welcome, 
since  from  its  pages,  generations  yet  to  come,  will  learn  to  sing 
and  to  repeat  the  war  songs  and  the  poetry  of  the  great  four  years’ 
struggle. 


From  Mrs.  JAMES  T.  HALSEY, 

Honorary  President  General  Dabney  H.  Maury  Chapter  U.  D.  C., 
Philadelphia,  and  Memberof  Historical  Committee, 
Grand  Division  of  Virginia. 


Philadelphia,  June  4,  1904. 

I have  read  with  much  pleasure  and  interest  Dr.  H.  M. 
Wharton’s  book,  “ W^ar  Songs  and  Poems  of  the  Southern  Con- 
federacy,” and  heartily  commend  it  to  every  Southern  home  and 
library.  It  contains  an  unusual  number  of  rare  and  choice  poems 
not  to  be  found  in  other  collections,  and  Dr.  Wharton  has  done  a 
great  service  to  the  Nation  as  well  as  to  the  Southern  people  in 
perpetuating  them  in  this  form. 


